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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/16530-8.txt b/16530-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc5efa6 --- /dev/null +++ b/16530-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14834 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Ridin' Kid from Powder River, by Henry Herbert Knibbs + +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: The Ridin' Kid from Powder River + +Author: Henry Herbert Knibbs + +Illustrator: Stanley L. Wood and R. M. Brinkerhoff + +Release Date: August 14, 2005 [EBook #16530] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: The Ridin' Kid] + + + + + + +THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER + + +_By_ + +HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS + + + + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + +BOSTON AND NEW YORK. + +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + +1919 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I. YOUNG PETE + II. FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES + III. A WARNING + IV. JUSTICE + V. A CHANGE OF BASE + VI. NEW VISTAS + VII. PLANS + VIII. SOME BOOKKEEPING + IX. ROWDY--AND BLUE SMOKE + X. "TURN HIM LOOSE!" + XI. POP ANNERSLEY'S BOY + XII. IN THE PIT + XIII. GAME + XIV. THE KITTY-CAT + XV. FOUR MEN + XVI. THE OPEN HOLSTER + XVII. A FALSE TRAIL + XVIII. THE BLACK SOMBRERO + XIX. THE SPIDER + XX. BULL MALVEY + XXI. BOCA DULZURA + XXII. "A DRESS--OR A RING--PERHAPS" + XXIII. THE DEVIL-WIND + XXIV. "A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR" + XXV. "PLANTED--OUT THERE" + XXVI. THE OLLA + XXVII. OVER THE LINE + XXVIII. A GAMBLE + XXIX. QUERY + XXX. BRENT'S MISTAKE + XXXI. FUGITIVE + XXXII. EL PASO + XXXIII. THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT + XXXIV. DORIS + XXXV. "CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME" + XXXVI. WHITE-EYE + XXXVII. "CLOSE THE CASES" + XXXVIII. GETTING ACQUAINTED + XXXIX. A PUZZLE GAME + XL. THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS + XLI. "A LAND FAMILIAR" + XLII. "OH, SAY TWO THOUSAND" + XLIII. A NEW HAT--A NEW TRAIL + XLIV. THE OLD TRAIL + XLV. HOME FOLKS + XLVI. THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +THE RIDIN' KID . . . . _Colored Frontispiece_ + +_Drawn by Stanley L. Wood_ + + + +"SAY, AIN'T WE PARDNERS?" + +PETE + +COTTON HEARD PETE'S HAND STRIKE THE BUTT OF HIS GUN + AS THE HOLSTER TILTED UP + +"OF A TRUTH, NO!" SAID BOCA, AND SHE SWUNG THE BOTTLE + + +_Drawn by R. M. Brinkerhoff_ + + + + +The Ridin' Kid from Powder River + + +CHAPTER I + +YOUNG PETE + +With the inevitable pinto or calico horse in his string the +horse-trader drifted toward the distant town of Concho, accompanied by +a lazy cloud of dust, a slat-ribbed dog, and a knock-kneed foal that +insisted on getting in the way of the wagon team. Strung out behind +this indolently moving aggregation of desert adventurers plodded an +indifferent lot of cayuses, their heads lowered and their eyes filled +with dust. + +Young Pete, perched on a saddle much too large for him, hazed the tired +horses with a professional "Hi! Yah! Git in there, you doggone, +onnery, three-legged pole-cat you!" A gratuitous command, for the +three-legged pole-cat referred to had no other ambition than to shuffle +wearily along behind the wagon in the hope that somewhere ahead was +good grazing, water, and chance shade. + +The trader was lean, rat-eyed, and of a vicious temper. Comparatively, +the worst horse in his string was a gentleman. Horse-trading and +whiskey go arm-in-arm, accompanied by their copartners, profanity and +tobacco-chewing. In the right hand of the horse-trader is guile and in +his left hand is trickery. And this squalid, slovenly-booted, and +sombrero'd gentleman of the outlands lived down to and even beneath all +the vicarious traditions of his kind, a pariah of the waste places, +tolerated in the environs of this or that desert town chiefly because +of Young Pete, who was popular, despite the fact that he bartered +profanely for chuck at the stores, picketed the horses in pasturage +already preempted by the natives, watered the horses where water was +scarce and for local consumption only, and lied eloquently as to the +qualities of his master's caviayard when a trade was in progress. For +these manful services Young Pete received scant rations and much abuse. + +Pete had been picked up in the town of Enright, where no one seemed to +have a definite record of his immediate ancestry. He was quite willing +to go with the trader, his only stipulation being that he be allowed to +bring along his dog, another denizen of Enright whose ancestry was as +vague as were his chances of getting a square meal a day. Yet the dog, +despite lean rations, suffered less than Young Pete, for the dog +trusted no man. Consequently he was just out of reach when the trader +wanted to kick something. Young Pete was not always so fortunate. But +he was not altogether unhappy. He had responsibilities, especially +when the trader was drunk and the horses needed attention. Pete +learned much profanity without realizing its significance. He also +learned to chew tobacco and realized its immediate significance. He +mastered the art, however, and became in his own estimation a man +grown--a twelve-year-old man who could swear, chew, and show horses to +advantage when the trader could not, because the horses were not afraid +of Young Pete. + +When Pete got kicked or cuffed he cursed the trader heartily. Once, +after a brutal beating, Young Pete backed to the wagon, pulled the +rifle from beneath the seat, and threatened to kill the trader. After +that the rifle was never left loaded. In his tough little heart Pete +hated his master, but he liked the life, which offered much variety and +promised no little romance of a kind. + +Pete had barely existed for twelve years. When the trader came along +with his wagon and ponies and cajoled Pete into going with him, Pete +gladly turned his face toward wider horizons and the great adventure. +Yet for him the great adventure was not to end in the trading of horses +and drifting from town to town all his life. + +Old man Annersley held down a quarter-section on the Blue Mesa chiefly +because he liked the country. Incidently he gleaned a living by hard +work and thrift. His homestead embraced the only water for miles in +any direction, water that the upland cattlemen had used from time +immemorial. When Annersley fenced this water he did a most natural and +necessary thing. He had gathered together a few head of cattle, some +chickens, two fairly respectable horses, and enough timber to build a +comfortable cabin. He lived alone, a gentle old hermit whose hand was +clean to every man, and whose heart was tender to all living things +despite many hard years in desert and range among men who dispensed +such law as there was with a quick forefinger and an uncompromising +eye. His gray hairs were honorable in that he had known no wastrel +years. Nature had shaped him to a great, rugged being fitted for the +simplicity of mountain life and toil. He had no argument with God and +no petty dispute with man. What he found to do he did heartily. The +horse-trader, camped near Concho, came to realize this. + +Old man Annersley was in need of a horse. One of his team had died +that winter. So he unhooked the pole from the buckboard, rigged a pair +of shafts, and drove to Concho, where he heard of the trader and +finally located that worthy drinking at Tony's Place. Young Pete, as +usual, was in camp looking after the stock. The trader accompanied +Annersley to the camp. Young Pete, sniffing a customer, was +immediately up and doing. Annersley inspected the horses and finally +chose a horse which Young Pete roped with much swagger and unnecessary +language, for the horse was gentle, and quite familiar with Young +Pete's professional vocabulary. + +"This here animal is sound, safe, and a child could ride him," asserted +Young Pete as he led the languid and underfed pony to the wagon. "He's +got good action." Pete climbed to the wagon-wheel and mounted +bareback. "He don't pitch, bite, kick, or balk." The horse, used to +being shown, loped a few yards, turned and trotted back. "He +neck-reins like a cow-hoss," said Pete, "and he can turn in a ten-cent +piece. You can rope from him and he'll hold anything you git your rope +on." + +"Reckon he would," said Annersley, and his eyes twinkled. "'Specially +a hitchin'-rail. Git your rope on a hitchin'-rail and I reckon that +hitchin'-rail would never git away from him." + +"He's broke right," reasserted Young Pete. "He's none of your ornery, +half-broke cayuses. You ought to seen him when he was a colt! Say, 't +wa'n't no time afore he could outwork and outrun any hoss in our bunch." + +"How old be you?" queried Annersley. + +"Twelve, goin' on thirteen." + +"Uh-huh. And the hoss?" + +"Oh, he's got a little age on him, but that don't hurt him none." + +Annersley's beard twitched. "He must 'a' been a colt for quite a +spell. But I ain't lookin' for a cow-hoss. What I want is a hoss that +I can work. How does he go in harness?" + +"Harness! Say, mister, this here hoss can pull the kingpin out of a +wagon without sweatin' a hair. Hook him onto a plough and he sure can +make the ole plough smoke." + +Annersley shook his head. "That's a mite too fast for me, son. I'd +hate to have to stop at the end of every furrow and pour water on that +there plough-point to keep her cool." + +"'Course if you're lookin' for a _cheap_ hoss," said Young Pete, +nothing abashed, "why, we got 'em. But I was showin' you the best in +the string." + +"Don't know that I want him. What you say he was worth?" + +"He's worth a hundred, to any man. But we're sellin' him cheap, for +cash--forty dollars." + +"Fifty," said the trader, "and if he ain't worth fifty, he ain't worth +puttin' a halter on. Fifty is givin' him to you." + +"So? Then I reckon I don't want him. I wa'n't lookin' for a present. +I was lookin' to buy a hoss." + +The trader saw a real customer slipping through his fingers. "You can +put a halter on him for forty--cash." + +"Nope. Your pardner here said forty,"--and Annersley smiled at Young +Pete. "I'll look him over ag'in for thirty." + +Young Pete knew that they needed money badly, a fact that the trader +was apt to ignore when he was drinking. "You said I could sell him for +forty, or mebby less, for cash," complained Young Pete, slipping from +the pony and tying him to the wagon-wheel. + +"You go lay down!" growled the trader, and he launched a kick that +jolted Pete into the smouldering camp-fire. Pete was used to being +kicked, but not before an audience. Moreover, the hot ashes had burned +his hands. Pete's dog, hitherto asleep beneath the wagon, rose +bristling, anxious to defend his young master, but afraid of the +trader. The cowering dog and the cringing boy told Annersley much. + +Young Pete, brushing the ashes from his over-alls, rose and shaking +with rage, pointed a trembling finger at the trader. "You're a doggone +liar! You're a doggone coward! You're a doggone thief!" + +"Just a minute, friend," said Annersley as the trader started toward +the boy. "I reckon the boy is right--but we was talkin' hosses. I'll +give you just forty dollars for the hoss--and the boy." + +"Make it fifty and you can take 'em. The kid is no good, anyhow." + +This was too much for Young Pete. He could stand abuse and scant +rations, but to be classed as "no good," when he had worked so hard and +lied so eloquently, hurt more than mere kick or blow. His face +quivered and he bit his lip. Old man Annersley slowly drew a wallet +from his overalls and counted out forty dollars. "That hoss ain't +sound," he remarked and he recounted the money. He's got a couple of +wind-puffs, and he's old. He needs feedin' and restin' up. That boy +your boy?" + +"That kid! Huh! I picked him up when he was starvin' to death over to +Enright. I been feedin' him and his no-account dog for a year, and +neither of 'em is worth what he eats." + +"So? Then I reckon you won't be missin' him none if I take him along +up to my place." + +The horse-trader did not want to lose Young Pete, but he did want +Annersley's money. "I'll leave it to him," he said, flattering himself +that Pete dare not leave him. + +"What do you say, son?"--and old man Annersley turned to Pete. "Would +you like to go along up with me and help me to run my place? I'm kind +o' lonesome up there, and I was thinkin' o' gettin' a pardner." + +"Where do you live?" queried Pete, quickly drying his eyes. + +"Why, up in those hills, which don't no way smell of liquor and are +tellin' the truth from sunup to sunup. Like to come along and give me +a hand with my stock?" + +"You bet I would!" + +"Here's your money," said Annersley, and he gave the trader forty +dollars. "Git right in that buckboard, son." + +"Hold on!" exclaimed the trader. "The kid stays here. I said fifty +for the outfit." + +"I'm goin'," asserted Young Pete. "I'm sick o' gettin' kicked and +cussed every time I come near him. He licked me with a rawhide last +week." + +"He did, eh? For why?" + +"'Cause he was drunk--that's why!" + +"Then I reckon you come with me. Such as him ain't fit to raise young +'uns." + +Young Pete was enjoying himself. This was indeed revenge--to hear some +one tell the trader what he was, and without the fear of a beating. +"I'll go with you," said Pete. "Wait till I git my blanket." + +"Don't you touch nothin' in that wagon!" stormed the trader. + +"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley. + +The horse-trader was deceived by Annersley's mild manner. As Young +Pete started toward the wagon, the trader jumped and grabbed him. The +boy flung up his arms to protect his face. Old man Annersley said +nothing, but with ponderous ease he strode forward, seized the trader +from behind, and shook that loose-mouthed individual till his teeth +rattled and the horizon line grew dim. + +"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley, as he swung the trader round, +deposited him face down in the sand, and sat on him. "I'm waitin'." + +"Goin' to kill him?" queried Young Pete, his black eyes snapping. + +"Shucks, no!" + +"Kin I kick him--jest onct, while you hold him down?" + +"Nope, son. That's too much like his way. You run along and git your +blanket if you're goin' with me." + +Young Pete scrambled to the wagon and returned with a tattered blanket, +his sole possession, and his because he had stolen it from a Mexican +camp near Enright. He scurried to the buckboard and hopped in. + +Annersley rose and brought the trader up with him as though the latter +were a bit of limp tie-rope. + +"And now we'll be driftin'," he told the other. + +Murder burned in the horse-trader's narrow eyes, but immediate physical +ambition was lacking. + +Annersley bulked big. The horse-trader cursed the old man in two +languages. Annersley climbed into the buckboard, gave Pete the +lead-rope of the recent purchase, and clucked to his horse, paying no +attention whatever to the volley of invectives behind him. + +"He'll git his gun and shoot you in the back," whispered Young Pete. + +"Nope, son. He'll jest go and git another drink and tell everybody in +Concho how he's goin' to kill me--some day. I've handled folks like +him frequent." + +"You sure kin fight!" exclaimed Young Pete enthusiastically. + +"Never hit a man in my life. I never dast to," said Annersley. + +"You jest set on 'em, eh?" + +"Jest set on 'em," said Annersley. "You keep tight holt to that rope. +That fool hoss acts like he wanted to go back to your camp." + +Young Pete braced his feet and clung to the rope, admonishing the horse +with outland eloquence. As they crossed the arroyo, the led horse +pulled back, all but unseating Young Pete. + +"Here, you!" cried the boy. "You quit that--afore my new pop takes you +by the neck and the--pants and sits on you!" + +"That's the idea, son. Only next time, jest tell him without cussin'." + +"He always cusses the hosses," said Young Pete. "Everybody cusses 'em." + +"'Most everybody. But a man what cusses a hoss is only cussin' +hisself. You're some young to git that--but mebby you'll recollect I +said so, some day." + +"Didn't you cuss him when you set on him?" queried Pete. + +"For why, son?" + +"Wa'n't you mad?" + +"Shucks, no." + +"Don't you ever cuss?" + +"Not frequent, son. Cussin' never pitched any hay for me." + +Young Pete was a bit disappointed. "Didn't you never cuss in your +life?" + +Annersley glanced down at the boy. + +"Well, if you promise you won't tell nobody, I did cuss onct, when I +struck the plough into a yellow-jacket's nest which I wa'n't aimin' to +hit, nohow. Had the reins round my neck, not expectin' visitors, when +them hornets come at me and the hoss without even ringin' the bell. +That team drug me quite a spell afore I got loose. When I got enough +dirt out of my mouth so as I could holler, I set to and said what I +thought." + +"Cussed the hosses and the doggone ole plough and them hornets--and +everything!" exclaimed Pete. + +"Nope, son, I cussed myself for hangin' them reins round my neck. What +you say your name was?" + +"Pete." + +"What was the trader callin' you--any other name besides Pete?" + +"Yes, I reckon he was. When he is good 'n' drunk he would be callin' +me a doggone little--" + +"Never mind, I know about that. I was meanin' your other name." + +"My other name? I ain't got none. I'm Pete." + +Annersley shook his head. "Well, pardner, you'll be Pete Annersley +now. Watch out that hoss don't jerk you out o' your jacket. This here +hill is a enterprisin' hill and leads right up to my place. Hang on! +As I was sayin', we're pardners, you and me. We're goin' up to my +place on the Blue and tend to the critters and git washed up and have +supper, and mebby after supper we'll mosey around so you kin git +acquainted with the ranch. Where'd you say your pop come from?" + +"I dunno. He ain't my real pop." + +Annersley turned and looked down at the lean, bright little face. "You +hungry, son?" + +"You bet!" + +"What you say if we kill a chicken for supper--and celebrate." + +"G'wan, you're joshin' me!" + +"Nope. I like chicken. And I got one that needs killin'; a no-account +ole hen what won't set and won't lay." + +"Then we'll ring her doggone head off, eh?" + +"Somethin' like that--only I ain't jest hatin' that there hen. She +ain't no good, that's all." + +Young Pete pondered, watching Annersley's grave, bearded face. +Suddenly he brightened. "I know! Nobody kin tell when you're joshin' +'em, 'cause your whiskers hides it. Guess I'll grow some whiskers and +then I kin fool everybody." + +Old man Annersley chuckled, and spoke to the horses. Young Pete, +happier than he had ever been, wondered if this good luck would +last--if it were real, or just a dream that would vanish, leaving him +shivering in his tattered blanket, and the horse-trader telling him to +get up and rustle wood for the morning fire. + +The buckboard topped the rise and leveled to the tree-girdled mesa. +Young Pete stared. This was the most beautiful spot he had ever seen. +Ringed round by a great forest of spruce, the Blue Mesa lay shimmering +in the sunset like an emerald lake, beneath a cloudless sky tinged with +crimson, gold, and amethyst. Across the mesa stood a cabin, the only +dwelling in that silent expanse. And this was to be his home, and the +big man beside him, gently urging the horse, was his partner. He had +said so. Surely the great adventure had begun. + +Annersley glanced down. Young Pete's hand was clutched in the old +man's coat-sleeve, but the boy was gazing ahead, his bright black eyes +filled with the wonder of new fortunes and a real home. Annersley +blinked and spoke sharply to the horse, although that good animal +needed no urging as he plodded sturdily toward the cabin. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES + +For a few days the old man had his hands full. Young Pete, used to +thinking and acting for himself, possessed that most valuable but often +dangerous asset, initiative. The very evening that he arrived at the +homestead, while Annersley was milking the one tame cow out in the +corral, Young Pete decided that he would help matters along by catching +the hen which Annersley had pointed out to him when he drove into the +yard. Milking did not interest Young Pete; but chasing chickens did. + +The hen, a slate-colored and maternal-appearing biddy, seemed to +realize that something unusual was afoot. She refused to be driven +into the coop, perversely diving about the yard and circling the +out-buildings until even Young Pete's ambition flagged. Out of breath +he marched to the house. Annersley's rifle stood in the corner. Young +Pete eyed it longingly, finally picked it up and stole gingerly to the +doorway. The slate-colored hen had cooled down and was at the moment +contemplating the cabin with head sideways, exceedingly suspicious and +ruffled, but standing still. Just as Young Pete drew a bead on her, +the big red rooster came running to assure her that all was well--that +he would protect her; that her trepidation was unfounded. He blustered +and strutted, declaring himself Lord High Protector of the hen-yard and +just about the handsomest thing in feathers--_Bloom_! Young Pete +blinked, and rubbed his shoulder. The slate-colored hen sprinted for +parts unknown. The big red rooster flopped once or twice and then gave +up the ghost. He had strutted across the firing line just as Young +Pete pulled the trigger. The cow jumped and kicked over the milk-pail. +Old Annersley came running. But Young Pete, the lust of the chase +spurring him on, had disappeared around the corner of the cabin after +the hen. He routed her out from behind the haystack, herded her +swiftly across the clearing to the lean-to stable, and corralled her, +so to speak, in a manger. Just as Annersley caught up with him, Pete +leveled and fired--at close range. What was left of the hen--which was +chiefly feathers, he gathered up and held by the remaining leg. "I got +her!" he panted. + +Annersley paused to catch his breath. "Yes--you got her. +Gosh-A'mighty, son--I thought you had started in to clean out the +ranch! You downed my rooster and you like to plugged me an' that +heifer there. The bullit come singin' along and plunked into the +rain-bar'l and most scared me to death. What in the ole scratch +started you on the war-path, anyhow?" + +Pete realized that he had overdone the matter slightly. "Why, +nothin'--only you said we was to eat that hen for supper, an' I +couldn't catch the dog-gone ole squawker, so I jest set to and plugged +her. This here gun of yourn kicks somethin' fierce!" + +"Well, I reckon you was meanin' all right. But Gosh-A'mighty! You +might 'a' killed the cow or me or somethin'!" + +"Well, I got her, anyhow. I got her plumb center." + +"Yes--you sure did." And the old man took the remains of the hen from +Pete and "hefted" those remains with a critical finger and thumb. "One +laig left, and a piece of the breast." He sighed heavily. Young Pete +stared up at him, expecting praise for his marksmanship and energy. +The old man put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "It's all right this +time, son. I reckon you wasn't meanin' to murder that rooster. I only +got one, and--" + +"He jest run right in front of the hen when I cut loose. He might 'a' +knowed better." + +"We'll go see." And Annersley plodded to the yard, picked up the +defunct rooster and entered the cabin. + +Young Pete cooled down to a realization that his new pop was not +altogether pleased. He followed Annersley, who told him to put the gun +back in the corner. + +"Got to clean her first," asserted Young Pete. + +"You look out you don't shoot yourself," said Annersley from the +kitchen. + +"Huh," came from the ambitious, young hunter of feathered game, "I know +all about guns--and this here ole musket sure needs cleanin' bad. She +liked to kicked my doggone head off." + +They ate what was left of the hen, and a portion of the rooster. After +supper Annersley sat outside with the boy and talked to him kindly. +Slowly it dawned upon Young Pete that it was not considered good form +in the best families of Arizona to slay law-abiding roosters without +explicit directions and permission from their owners. The old man +concluded with a promise that if Young Pete liked to shoot, he should +some day have a gun of his own if he, in turn, would agree to do no +shooting without permission. The promise of a real gun of his own +touched Young Pete's tough little heart. He stuck out his hand. The +compact was sealed. + +"Git a thirty-thirty," he suggested. + +"What do you know about thirty-thirties?" + +"Huh, I know lots. My other pop was tellin' me you could git a man +with a thirty a whole heap farther than you could with any ole +forty-four or them guns. I shot heaps of rabbits with his." + +"Well, we'll see. But you want to git over the idee of gettin' a man +with any gun. That goes with horse-tradin' and liquor and such. But +we sure aim to live peaceful, up here." + +Meanwhile, Young Pete, squatting beside Annersley, amused himself by +spitting tobacco juice at a procession of red ants that trailed from +nowhere in particular toward the doorstep. + +"Makes 'em sick," he chuckled as a lucky shot dissipated the procession. + +"It's sure wastin' cartridges on mighty small game," remarked Annersley. + +"Don't cost nothin' to spit on 'em," said Young Pete. + +"Not now. But when you git out of chewin'-tobacco, then where you +goin' to git some more?" + +"To the store, I reckon." + +"Uh-huh. But where you goin' to git the money?" + +"He was givin' me all the chewin' I wanted," said Pete. + +"Uh-huh. Well, I ain't got no money for chewin'-tobacco. But I tell +you what, Pete. Now, say I was to give you a dollar a week for--for +your wages. And say I was to git you one of them guns like you said; +you couldn't shoot chewin'-tobacco in that gun, could you?" + +"Most anybody knows that!" laughed Pete. + +"But you could buy cartridges with that dollar--an' shoot lots." + +"Would you lick me if I bought chewin'?" + +"Shucks, no! I was jest leavin' it to you." + +"When do I git that dollar--the first one?" + +Annersley smiled to himself. Pete was shrewd and in no way inclined to +commit himself carelessly. Horse-trading had sharpened his wits to a +razor-edge and dire necessity and hunger had kept those wits keen. +Annersley was amused and at the same time wise enough in his patient, +slow way to hide his amusement and talk with Pete as man to man. "Why, +you ain't been workin' for me a week yet! And come to think--that +rooster was worth five dollars--every cent! What you say if I was to +charge that rooster up to you? Then after five weeks you was to git a +dollar, eh?" + +Pete pondered this problem. "Huh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You et +more 'n half that rooster--and some of the hen." + +"All right, son. Then say I was to charge you two dollars for what you +et?" + +"Then, I guess beans is good enough for me. Anyhow, I never stole your +rooster. I jest shot him." + +"Which is correct. Reckon we'll forgit about that rooster and start +fresh." The old man fumbled in his pocket and brought up a silver +dollar. "Here's your first week's wages, son. What you aim to do with +it?" + +"Buy cartridges!" exclaimed Pete. "But I ain't got no gun." + +"Well, we'll be goin' to town right soon. I'll git you a gun, and +mebby a scabbard so you can carry it on the saddle." + +"Kin I ride that hoss I seen out there?" queried Pete. + +"What about ridin' the hoss you sold me? From what you said, I reckon +they ain't no hoss can touch him, in this country." + +Pete hesitated on the thin edge of committing himself, tottered and +almost fell, but managed to retain his balance. "Sure, he's a good +hoss! Got a little age on him, but that don't hurt none. I was +thinkin' mebby you'd like that other cayuse of yours broke right. +Looks to me like he needs some handlin' to make a first-class +saddle-hoss." + +The old man smiled broadly. Pete, like a hungry mosquito, was hard to +catch. + +"You kin ride him," said Annersley. "'Course, if he pitches you--" +And the old man chuckled. + +"Pitch me? Say, pardner, I'm a ridin' son-of-a-gun from Powder River +and my middle name is 'stick.' I kin ride 'm comin' and goin'--crawl +'m on the run and bust 'm wide open every time they bit the dirt. Turn +me loose and hear me howl. Jest give me room and see me split the air! +You want to climb the fence when I 'm a-comin'!" + +"Where did you git that little song?" queried Annersley. + +"Why--why, that's how the fellas shoot her over to the round-up at +Magdalena and Flag. Reckon I been there!" + +"Well, don't you bust ole Apache too hard, son. He's a mighty +forgivin' hoss--but he's got feelin's." + +"Huh! You're a-joshin' me agin. I seen your whiskers kind o' wiggle. +You think I'm scared o' that hoss?" + +"Just a leetle mite, son. Or you wouldn't 'a' sung that there +high-chin song. There's some good riders that talk lots. But the best +riders I ever seen, jest rode 'em--and said nothin'." + +"Like when you set on my other pop, eh?" + +"That's the idee." + +Pete, used to a rough-and-tumble existence, was deeply impressed by the +old man's quiet outlook and gentle manner. While not altogether in +accord with Annersley's attitude in regard to profanity and chewing +tobacco--still, Young Pete felt that a man who could down the +horse-trader and sit on him and suffer no harm was somehow worth +listening to. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A WARNING + +That first and unforgettable year on the homestead was the happiest +year of Pete's life. Intensely active, tireless, and resourceful--as +are most youngsters raised in the West--he learned to milk the tame +cow, manipulate the hay-rake, distinguish potato-vines from weeds and +hoe accordingly, and through observation and Annersley's thrifty +example, take care of his clothing and few effects. The old man taught +Pete to read and to write his own name--a painful process, for Young +Pete cared nothing for that sort of education and suffered only that he +might please his venerable partner. When it came to the plaiting of +rawhide into bridle-reins and reatas, the handling of a rope, packing +for a hunting trip, reading a dim trail when tracking a stray horse, or +any of the many things essential to life in the hills, Young Pete took +hold with boyish enthusiasm, copying Annersley's methods to the letter. +Pete was repaid a thousand-fold for his efforts by the old man's +occasional: + +"Couldn't 'a' done it any better myself, pardner." + +For Annersley seldom called the boy "Pete" now, realizing that +"pardner" meant so much more to him. + +Pete had his rifle--an old carbine, much scratched and battered by the +brush and rock--a thirty-thirty the old man had purchased from a cowboy +in Concho. + +Pete spent most of his spare time cleaning and polishing the gun. He +had a fondness for firearms that almost amounted to a passion. +Evenings, when the work was done and Annersley sat smoking in the +doorway, Young Pete invariably found excuse to clean and oil his gun. +He invested heavily in cartridges and immediately used up his +ammunition on every available target until there was not an unpunctured +tin can on the premises. He was quick and accurate, finally scorning +to shoot at a stationary mark and often riding miles to get to the +valley level where there were rabbits and "Jacks," that he occasionally +bowled over on the run. Once he shot a coyote, and his cup of +happiness brimmed--for the time being. + +All told, it was a most healthful and happy life for a boy, and Young +Pete learned, unconsciously, to "ride, shoot, and Tell the Truth," as +against "Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic," for which he cared nothing. +Pete might have gone far--become a well-to-do cattleman or rancher--had +not Fate, which can so easily wipe out all plans and precautions in a +flash, stepped in and laid a hand on his bridle-rein. + +That summer occasional riders stopped at the cabin, were fed and housed +and went on their way. They came chiefly from the T-Bar-T ranch--some +few from Concho, a cattle outfit of the lower country. Pete +intuitively disliked these men, despite the fact that they rode +excellent horses, sported gay trappings, and "joshed" with him as +though he were one of themselves. His instinct told him that they were +not altogether friendly to Annersley. They frequently drifted into +warm argument as to water-rights and nesters in general--matters that +did not interest Young Pete at the time, who failed, naturally, to +grasp the ultimate meaning of the talk. But the old man never seemed +perturbed by these arguments, declining, in his good-natured way, to +take them seriously, and feeling secure in his own rights, as a +hard-working citizen, to hold and cultivate the allotment he had earned +from the Government. + +The T-Bar-T outfit especially grudged him the water that they had +previously used to such good advantage. This water was now under +fence. To make this water available to cattle would disrupt the +homestead. It was at this time that Young Pete first realized the +significance of these hard-riding visitors. He was cleaning his +much-polished carbine, sitting cross-legged round the corner of the +cabin, when two of the chance visitors, having washed and discarded +their chaps, strolled out and squatted by the doorway. Old man +Annersley was at the back of the cabin preparing supper. + +One of the riders, a man named Gary, said something to his companion +about "running the old man out of the country." + +Young Pete paused in his task. + +"You can't bluff him so easy," offered the companion. + +"But a thirty-thirty kin talk business," said the man Gary, and he +laughed. + +Pete never forgot the remark nor the laugh. Next day, after the riders +had departed, he told his pop what he had heard. The old man made him +repeat the conversation. He shook his head. "Mostly talk," he said. + +"They dassent to start runnin' _us_ off--dast they?" queried Young Pete. + +"Mostly talk," reiterated Annersley; but Pete saw that his pop was +troubled. + +"They can't bluff us, eh, pop?" + +"I reckon not, son. How many cartridges you got?" + +Young Pete thrilled to the question. "Got ten out of the last box. +You got any?" + +"Some. Reckon we'll go to town to-morrow." + +"To git some cartridges?" + +"Mebby." + +This was Young Pete's first real intimation that there might be trouble +that would occasion the use of cartridges. The idea did not displease +him. They drove to town, bought some provisions and ammunition, and +incidentally the old man visited the sheriff and retailed the +conversation that Pete had overheard. + +"Bluff!" said the sheriff, whose office depended upon the vote of the +cattlemen. "Just bluff, Annersley. You hang on to what you got and +they won't be no trouble. I know just how far those boys will go." + +"Well, I don't," said Annersley. "So I was jest puttin' what you call +bluff on record, case anything happened." + +The sheriff, secretly in league with the cattlemen to crowd Annersley +off the range, took occasion to suggest to the T-Bar-T foreman that the +old man was getting cold feet--which was a mistake, for Annersley had +simply wished to keep within the law and avoid trouble if possible. +Thus it happened that Annersley brought upon himself the very trouble +that he had honorably tried to avoid. Let the most courageous man even +seem to turn and run and how soon his enemies will take up the chase! + +But nothing happened that summer, and it was not until the following +spring that the T-Bar-T outfit gave any hint of their real intent. The +anonymous letter was a vile screed--because it was anonymous and also +because it threatened, in innuendo, to burn out a homestead held by one +man and a boy. + +Annersley showed the letter to Pete and helped him spell it out. Then +he explained gravely his own status as a homesteader, the law which +allowed him to fence the water, and the labor which had made the land +his. It was typical of Young Pete that when a real hazard threatened +he never said much. In this instance the boy did not know just what to +do. That evening Annersley missed him and called, "What you doin', +pardner?" + +From the cabin--Annersley, as usual, was seated outside, smoking--came +the reply: "Countin' my cartridges." + +Annersley knew that the anonymous letter would be followed by some +hostile act if he did not vacate the homestead. He wasted no time +worrying as to what might happen--but he did worry about Young Pete. +If the cattlemen raided his place, it would be impossible to keep that +young and ambitious fire-eater out of harm's way. So the old man +planned to take Pete to Concho the next morning and leave him with the +storekeeper until the difficulty should be solved, one way or the other. + +This time they did not drive to Concho, but saddled up and rode down +the hill trail. And during the journey Young Pete was unusually +silent, wondering just what his pop planned to do. + +At the store Annersley privately explained the situation to the +storekeeper. Then he told Young Pete that he would leave him there for +a few days as he was "goin' over north a spell." + +Young Pete studied the old man with bright, blinking eyes that +questioned the truth of this statement. His pop had never lied to him, +and although Pete suspected what was in the wind, he had no ground for +argument. Annersley was a trifle surprised that the boy consented to +stay without demur. Annersley might have known that Young Pete's very +silence was significant; but the old man was troubled and only too glad +to find his young partner so amenable to his suggestion. When +Annersley left the store Young Pete's "So-long, pop," was as casual as +sunshine, but his tough little heart was thumping with restrained +excitement. He knew that his pop feared trouble and wished to face it +alone. + +Pete allowed a reasonable length of time to elapse and then approached +the storekeeper. "Gimme a box of thirty-thirties," he said, fishing up +some silver from his overall pocket. + +"Where'd you get all that money, Pete?" + +"Why, I done stuck up the fo'man of the T-Bar-T on pay-day and made him +shell out," said Pete. + +The storekeeper grinned. "Here you be. Goin' huntin'?" + +"Uh-huh. Huntin' snakes." + +"Honest, now! Where'd you git the change?" + +"My wages!" said Young Pete proudly. "Pop is givin' me a dollar a week +for helpin' him. We're pardners." + +"Your pop is right good to you, ain't he?" + +"You bet! And he can lick any ole bunch of cow-chasers in this +country. Somebody's goin' to git hurt if they monkey with him!" + +"Where 'd you get the idea anybody was going to monkey with your dad?" + +Young Pete felt that he had been incautious. He refused to talk +further, despite the storekeeper's friendly questioning. Instead, the +boy roamed about the store, inspecting and commenting upon saddlery, +guns, canned goods, ready-made clothing, and showcase trinkets, his +ears alert for every word exchanged by the storekeeper and a chance +customer. Presently two cowboys clumped in, joshed with the +store-keeper, bought tobacco and ammunition--a most usual procedure, +and clumped out again. Young Pete strolled to the door and watched +them enter the adobe saloon across the way--Tony's Place--the +rendezvous of the riders of the high mesas. Again a group of cowboys +arrived, jesting and roughing their mounts. They entered the store, +bought ammunition, and drifted to the saloon. It was far from pay-day, +as Pete knew. It was also the busy season. There was some ulterior +reason for so many riders assembling in town. Pete decided to find out +just what they were up to. + +After supper he meandered across to the saloon, passed around it, and +hid in an empty barrel near the rear door. He was uncomfortable, but +not unhappy. He listened for a chance word that might explain the +presence of so many cowboys in town that day. Frequently he heard +Gary's name mentioned. He had not seen Gary with the others. But the +talk was casual, and he learned nothing until some one remarked that it +was about time to drift along. They left in a body, taking the mesa +trail that led to the Blue. This was significant. They usually left +in groups of two or three, as their individual pleasure dictated. And +there was a business-like alertness about their movements that did not +escape Young Pete. + +The Arizona stars were clear and keen when he crept round to the front +of the saloon and pattered across the road to the store. The +storekeeper was closing for the night. Young Pete, restlessly anxious +to follow the T-Bar-T men, invented an excuse to leave the storekeeper, +who suggested that they go to bed. + +"Got to see if my hoss is all right," said Pete. "The ole fool's like +to git tangled up in that there drag-rope I done left on him. Reckon +I'll take it off." + +"Why, your dad was tellin' me you was a reg'lar buckaroo. Thought you +knew better than to leave a rope on a hoss when he's in a corral." + +"I forgot," invented Pete. "Won't take a minute." + +"Then I'll wait for you. Run along while I get my lantern." + +The storekeeper's house was but a few doors down the street, which, +however, meant quite a distance, as Concho straggled over considerable +territory. He lighted the lantern and sat down on the steps waiting +for the boy. From the corral back of the store came the sound of +trampling hoofs and an occasional word from Young Pete, who seemed to +be a long time at the simple task of untying a drag-rope. The +store-keeper grew suspicious and finally strode back to the corral. +His first intimation of Pete's real intent was a glimpse of the boy +astride the big bay and blinking in the rays of the lantern. + +"What you up to?" queried the storekeeper. + +Young Pete's reply was to dig his heels into the horse's ribs. The +storekeeper caught hold of the bridle. "You git down and come home +with me. Where you goin' anyhow?" + +"Take your hand off that bridle," blustered Young Pete. + +The trader had to laugh. "Got spunk, ain't you? Now you git down and +come along with me, Pete. No use you riding back to the mesa to-night. +Your dad ain't there. You can't find him to-night." + +Pete's lip quivered. What right had the store-keeper, or any man, to +take hold of his bridle? + +"See here, Pete, where do you think you're goin'?" + +"Home!" shrilled Pete as he swung his hat and fanned the horse's ears. +It had been many years since that pony had had his ears fanned, but he +remembered early days and rose to the occasion, leaving the storekeeper +in the dust and Young Pete riding for dear life to stay in the saddle. +Pete's hat was lost in the excitement, and next to his rifle, the old +sombrero inherited from his pop was Pete's dearest possession. But +even when the pony had ceased to pitch, Pete dared not go back for it. +He would not risk being caught a second time. + +He jogged along up the mesa trail, peering ahead in the dusk, +half-frightened and half-elated. If the T-Bar-T outfit were going to +run his pop out of the country, Young Pete intended to be in at the +running. The feel of the carbine beneath his leg gave him courage. Up +to the time Annersley had adopted him, Pete had had to fight and scheme +and dodge his way through life. He had asked no favors and expected +none. His pop had stood by him in his own deepest trouble, and he +would now stand by his pop. That he was doing anything especially +worthy did not occur to him. Partners always "stuck." + +The horse, anxious to be home, took the long grade quickly, restrained +by Pete, who felt that it would be poor policy to tread too closely +upon the heels of the T-Bar-T men. That they intended mischief was now +only too evident. And Pete would have been disappointed had they not. +Although sophisticated beyond his years and used to the hazards of a +rough life, _this_ adventure thrilled him. Perhaps the men would set +fire to the outbuildings and the haystack, or even try to burn the +cabin. But they would have a sorry time getting to the cabin if his +pop were really there. + +Up the dim, starlit trail he plodded, shivering and yet elate. As he +topped the rise he thought he could see the vague outlines of horses +and men, but he was not certain. That soft glow against the distant +timber was real enough, however! There was no mistaking that! The log +stable was on fire! + +The horse fought the bit as Young Pete reined him into the timber. + +Pete could see no men against the glow of the burning building, but he +knew that they were there somewhere, bushed in the brush and waiting. +Within a few hundred yards of the cabin he was startled by the flat +crack of a rifle. He felt frightened and the blood sang in his ears. +But he could not turn back now! His pop might be besieged in the +cabin, alone and fighting a cowardly bunch of cow-punchers who dare not +face him in the open day. But what if his pop were not there? The +thought struck him cold. What would he do if he made a run for the +cabin and found it locked and no one there? All at once Pete realized +that it was _his_ home and _his_ stock and hay that were in danger. +Was he not a partner in pop's homestead? Then a thin red flash from +the cabin window told him that Annersley was there. Following the +flash came the rip and roar of the old rifle. Concealed in the timber, +Pete could see the flames licking up the stable. Presently a long +tongue of yellow shot up the haystack. "The doggone snakes done fired +our hay!" he cried, and his voice caught in a sob. This was too much. +Hay was a precious commodity in the high country. Pete yanked out his +carbine, loosed a shot at nothing in particular, and rode for the cabin +on the run. "We're coming pop," he yelled, followed by his shrill +"Yip! Yip! We're all here!" + +Several of the outlying cow-punchers saw the big bay rear and stop at +the cabin as Young Pete flung out of the saddle and pounded on the +door. "It's me, pop! It's Pete! Lemme in!" + +Annersley's heart sank. Why had the boy come? How did he know? How +had he managed to get away? + +He flung open the door and dragged Pete in. + +"What you doin' here?" he challenged. + +"I done lost my hat," gasped Pete. "I--I was lookin' for it." + +"Your hat? You gone loco? Git in there and lay down!" And though it +was dark in the cabin Young Pete knew that his pop had gestured toward +the bed. Annersley had never spoken in that tone before, and Young +Pete resented it. + +Pete was easily led, but mighty hard to drive. + +"Nothin' doin'!" said Pete. "You can't boss me 'round like that! You +said we was pardners, and that we was both boss. I knowed they was +comin' and I fanned it up here to tell you. I reckon we kin lick the +hull of 'em. I got plenty cartridges." + +Despite the danger, old man Annersley smiled as he choked back a word +of appreciation for Pete's stubborn loyalty and grit. When he spoke +again Pete at once caught the change in tone. + +"You keep away from the window," said Annersley. "Them coyotes out +there 'most like aim to rush me when the blaze dies down. Reckon +they'll risk settin' fire to the cabin. I don't want to kill +nobody--but--you keep back--and if they git me, you stay right still in +here. They won't hurt you." + +"Not if I git a bead on any of 'em!" said Young Pete, taking courage +from his pop's presence. "Did you shoot any of 'em yet, pop?" + +"I reckon not. I cut loose onct or twict, to scare 'em off. You keep +away from the window." + +Young Pete had crept to the window and was gazing out at the sinking +flames. "Say, ain't we pardners?" he queried irritably. "You said we +was when you brung me up here. And pardners stick, don't they? I +reckon if it was my shack that was gittin' rushed, you 'd stick, and +not go bellyin' under the bunk and hidin' like a dog-gone prairie-dog." + +[Illustration: "Say, ain't we pardners?"] + +"That's all right," said Annersley. "But there's no use takin' +chances. You keep back till we find out what they're goin' to do next." + +Standing in the middle of the room, well back from the southern window, +the old man gazed out upon the destruction of his buildings and +carefully hoarded hay. He breathed hard. The riders knew that he was +in the cabin--that they had not bluffed him from the homestead. +Probably they would next try to fire the cabin itself. They could +crawl up to it in the dark and set fire to the place before he was +aware of it. Well, they would pay high before they got him. He had +fed and housed these very men--and now they were trying to run him out +of the country because he had fenced a water-hole which he had every +right to fence. He had toiled to make a home for himself, and the boy, +he thought, as he heard Young Pete padding about the cabin. The +cattlemen had written a threatening letter hinting of this, yet they +had not dared to meet him in the open and have it out face to face. He +did not want to kill, yet such men were no better than wolves. And as +wolves he thought of them, as he determined to defend his home. + +Young Pete, spider-like in his quick movements, scurried about the +cabin making his own plan of battle. It did not occur to him that he +might get hurt--or that his pop would get hurt. They were safe enough +behind the thick logs. All he thought of was the chance of a shot at +what he considered legitimate game. While drifting about the country +he had heard many tales of gunmen and border raids, and it was quite +evident, even to his young mind, that the man who suffered attack by a +gun was justified in returning the compliment in kind. And to this end +he carefully arranged his cartridges on the floor, knelt and raised the +window a few inches and cocked the old carbine. Annersley realized +what the boy was up to and stepped forward to pull him away from the +window. And in that brief moment Young Pete's career was +shaped--shaped beyond all question or argument by the wanton bullet +that sung across the open, cut a clean hole in the window, and dropped +Annersley in his tracks. + +The distant, flat report of the shot broke the silence, fired more in +the hope of intimidating Annersley than anything else, yet the man who +had fired it must have known that there was but one place in the brush +from where the window could be seen--and to that extent the shot was +premeditated, with the possibility of its killing some one in the cabin. + +Young Pete heard his pop gasp and saw him stagger in the dim light. In +a flash Pete was at his side. "You hit, pop?" he quavered. There came +no reply. Annersley had died instantly. Pete fumbled at his chest in +the dark, called to him, tried to shake him, and then, realizing what +had happened threw himself on the floor beside Annersley and sobbed +hopelessly. Again a bullet whipped across the clearing. Glass tinkled +on the cabin floor. Pete cowered and hid his face in his arms. +Suddenly a shrill yell ripped the silence. The men were rushing the +cabin! Young Pete's fighting blood swelled his pulse. He and pop had +been partners. And partners always "stuck." Pete crept cautiously to +the window. Halfway across the clearing the blurred hulk of running +horses loomed in the starlight. Young Pete rested his carbine on the +window-sill and centered on the bulk. He fired and thought he saw a +horse rear. Again he fired. This was much easier than shooting deer. +He beard a cry and the drumming of hoofs. Something crashed against +the door. Pete whirled and fired point-blank. Before he knew what had +happened men were in the cabin. Some one struck a match. Young Pete +cowered in a corner, all the fight oozing out of him as the lamp was +lighted and he saw several men masked with bandannas. "The old man's +done for," said one of them, stooping to look at Annersley. Another +picked up the two empty shells from Annersley's rifle. "Where's the +kid?" asked another. "Here, in the corner," said a cowboy. "Must 'a' +been him that got Wright and Bradley. The old man only cut loose +twict--afore the kid come. Look at this!" And dragging Young Pete to +his feet, the cowboy took the carbine from him and pointed to the three +thirty-thirty shells on the cabin floor. + +The men were silent. Presently one of them laughed. Despite Pete's +terror, he recognized that laugh. He knew that the man was Gary, he +who had once spoken of running Annersley out of the country. + +"It's a dam' bad business," said one of the men. "The kid knows too +much. He'll talk." + +"Will you keep your mouth shut, if we don't kill you?" queried Gary. + +"Cut that out!" growled another. "The kid's got sand. He downed two +of us--and we take our medicine. I'm for fannin' it." + +Pete, stiff with fear, saw them turn and clump from the cabin. + +As they left he heard one say something which he never forgot. "Must +'a' been Gary's shot that downed the o1e man. Gary knowed the layout +and where he could get a line on the window." + +Pete dropped to the floor and crawled over to Annersley. "Pop!" he +called again and again. Presently he realized that the kindly old man +who had made a home for him, and who had been more like a real father +than his earlier experiences had ever allowed him to imagine, would +never again answer. In the yellow haze of the lamp, Young Pete rose +and dragging a blanket from the bed, covered the still form and the +upturned face, half in reverence for the dead and half in fear that +those dead lips might open and speak. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +JUSTICE + +Dawn bared the smouldering evidence of that dastardly attack. The +stable and the lean-to, where Annersley had stored his buckboard and a +few farm implements when winter came, the corral fence, the haystack, +were feathery ashes, which the wind stirred occasionally as a raw red +sun shoved up from behind the eastern hills. The chicken-coop, near +the cabin, had not been touched by the fire. Young Pete, who had +fallen asleep through sheer exhaustion, was awakened by the cackling of +the hens. He jumped up. It was time to let those chickens out. +Strange that his pop had not called him! He rubbed his eyes, started +suddenly as he realized that he was dressed--and then he +remembered . . . + +He trembled, fearful of what he would see when he stepped into the +other room. "Pop!" he whispered. The hens cackled loudly. From +somewhere in the far blue came the faint whistle of a hawk. A board +creaked under his foot and he all but cried out. He stole to the +window, scrambled over the sill, and dropped to the ground. Through +habit he let the chickens out. They rushed from the coop and spread +over the yard, scratching and clucking happily. Pete was surprised +that the chickens should go about their business so casually. They did +not seem to care that his pop had been killed. + +He was back to the cabin before he realized what he was doing. From +the doorway he saw that still form shrouded in the familiar old gray +blanket. Something urged him to lift a corner of the blanket and +look--something stronger held him back. He tip-toed to the kitchen and +began building a fire. "Pop would be gettin' breakfast," he whispered. +Pete fried bacon and made coffee. He ate hurriedly, occasionally +turning his head to glance at that still figure beneath the blanket. +Then he washed the dishes and put them carefully away, as his pop would +have done. That helped to occupy his mind, but his most difficult task +was still before him. He dared not stay in the cabin--and yet he felt +that he was a coward if he should leave. Paradoxically he reasoned +that if his pop were alive, he would know what to do. Pete knew of +only one thing to do--and that was to go to Concho and tell the sheriff +what had happened. Trying his best to ignore the gray blanket, he +picked up all the cartridges he could find, and the two rifles, and +backed from the room. He felt ashamed of the fear that drove him from +the cabin. He did not want his pop to think that he was a coward. +Partners always "stuck," and yet he was running away. "Good-bye, pop," +he quavered. He choked and sobbed, but no tears came. He turned and +went to look for the horses. + +Then he remembered that the corral fence was burned, that there had +been no horses there when he went to let the chickens out. He followed +horse-tracks to the edge of the timber and then turned back. The +horses had been stampeded by the flames and the shooting. Pete knew +that they might be miles from the cabin. He cut across the mesa to the +trail and trudged down toward Concho. His eyes burned and his throat +ached. The rifles grew heavy, but he would not leave them. It was +significant that Pete thought of taking nothing else from the cabin, +neither clothing, food, nor the money that he knew to be in Annersley's +wallet in the bedroom. The sun burned down upon his unprotected head, +but he did not feel it. He felt nothing save the burning ache in his +throat and a hope that the sheriff would arrest the men who had killed +his pop. He had great faith in the sheriff, who, as Annersley had told +him, was the law. The law punished evildoers. The men who had killed +pop would be hung--Pete was sure of that! + +Hatless, burning with fever and thirst, he arrived at the store in +Concho late in the afternoon. A friendly cowboy from the low country +joshed him about his warlike appearance. Young Pete was too exhausted +to retort. He marched into the store, told the storekeeper what had +happened, and asked for the sheriff. The storekeeper saw that there +was something gravely wrong with Pete. His face was flushed and his +eyes altogether too bright. He insisted on going at once to the +sheriff's office. + +"Now, you set down and rest. Just stay right here and keep your eye on +things out front--and I'll go get the sheriff." And the storekeeper +coaxed and soothed Pete into giving up his rifles. Promising to return +at once, the storekeeper set out on his errand, shaking his head +gravely. Annersley had been a good man, a man who commanded affection +and respect from most persons. And now the T-Bar-T men "had got him." +The storekeeper was not half so surprised as he was grieved. He had +had an idea that something like this might happen. It was a cattle +country, and Annersley had been the only homesteader within miles of +Concho. "I wonder just how much of this the sheriff knows already," he +soliloquized. "It's mighty tough on the kid." + +When Sheriff Sutton and the storekeeper entered the store they found +Young Pete in a stupor from which he did not awaken for many hours. He +was put to bed and a doctor summoned from a distant town. It would +have been useless, even brutal, to have questioned Pete, so the sheriff +simply took the two rifles and the cartridges to his office, with what +information the storekeeper could give him. The sheriff, who had +always respected Annersley, was sorry that this thing had happened. +Yet he was not sorry that Young Pete could give no evidence. The +cattlemen would have time to pretty well cover up their tracks. +Annersley had known the risks he was running when he took up the land. +The sheriff told his own conscience that "it was just plain suicide." +His conscience, being the better man, told him that it was "just plain +murder." The sheriff knew--and yet what could he do without evidence, +except visit the scene of the shooting, hold a post-mortem, and wait +until Young Pete was well enough to talk? + +One thing puzzled Sheriff Sutton. Both rifles had been used. So the +boy had taken a hand in the fight? Several shots must have been fired, +for Annersley was not a man to suffer such an outrage in silence. And +the boy was known to be a good shot. Yet there had been no news of +anyone having been wounded among the raiders. Sutton was preparing to +ride to the Blue and investigate when a T-Bar-T man loped up and +dismounted. They talked a minute or two. Then the cowboy rode out of +town. The sheriff was no longer puzzled about the two rifles having +been used. The cowboy had told him that two of the T-Bar-T men had +been killed. That in each instance a thirty-thirty, soft-nosed slug +had done the business. Annersley's rifle was an old forty-eighty-two, +shooting a solid lead bullet. + +When Sheriff Button arrived at the cabin he found the empty shells on +the floor, noted the holes in the window, and read the story of the +raid plainly. "Annersley shot to scare 'em off--but the kid shot to +kill," he argued. "And dam' if I blame him." + +Later, when Young Pete was able to talk, he was questioned by the +sheriff. He told of the raid, of the burning of the outbuildings, and +how Annersley had been killed. When questioned as to his own share in +the proceedings, Pete refused to answer. When shown the two guns and +asked which was his, he invariably replied, "Both of 'em," nor could he +be made to answer otherwise. Finally Sheriff Sutton gave it up, partly +because of public opinion, which was in open sympathy with Young Pete, +and partly because he feared that in case arrests were made, and Pete +were called as a witness, the boy would tell in court more than he had +thus far divulged. The sheriff thought that Pete was able to identify +one or more of the men who had entered the cabin, if he cared to do so. +As it was, Young Pete was crafty. Already he distrusted the sheriff's +sincerity. Then, the fact that two of the T-Bar-T men had been killed +rather quieted the public mind, which expressed itself as pretty well +satisfied that old man Annersley's account was squared. He or the boy +had "got" two of the enemy. In fact, it was more or less of a joke on +the T-Bar-T outfit--they should have known better. + +An inquest decided that Annersley had come to his death at the hands of +parties unknown. The matter was eventually shunted to one of the many +legal sidings along the single-track law that operated in that +vicinity. Annersley's effects were sold at auction and the proceeds +used to bury him. His homestead reverted to the Government, there +being no legal heir. Young Pete was again homeless, save for the +kindness of the storekeeper, who set him to work helping about the +place. + +In a few months Pete was seemingly over his grief, but he never gave up +the hope that some day he would find the man who had killed his pop. +In cow-camp and sheep-camp, in town and on the range, he had often +heard reiterated that unwritten law of the outlands: "If a man tried to +get you--run or fight. But if a man kills your friend or your kin--get +him." A law perhaps not as definitely worded in the retailing of +incident or example, but as obvious nevertheless as was the necessity +to live up to it or suffer the ever-lasting scorn of one's fellows. + +Some nine or ten months after the inquest Young Pete disappeared. No +one knew where he had gone, and eventually he was more or less +forgotten by the folk of Concho. But two men never forgot him--the +storekeeper and the sheriff. One of them hoped that the boy might come +back some day. He had grown fond of Pete. The other hoped that he +would not come back. + +Meanwhile the T-Bar-T herds grazed over Annersley's homestead. The +fence had been torn down, cattle wallowed in the mud of the water-hole, +and drifted about the place until little remained as evidence of the +old man's patient toil save the cabin. That Young Pete should again +return to the cabin and there unexpectedly meet Gary was undreamed of +as a possibility by either of them; yet fate had planned this very +thing--"otherwise," argues the Fatalist, "how could it have happened?" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A CHANGE OF BASE + +To say that Young Pete had any definite plan when he left Concho and +took up with an old Mexican sheep-herder would be stretching the +possibilities. And Pete Annersley's history will have to speak for +itself as illustrative of a plan from which he could not have departed +any more than he could have originated and followed to its final +ultimatum. + +Life with the storekeeper had been tame. Pete had no horse; and the +sheriff, taking him at his word, had refused to give up either one of +the rifles unless Pete would declare which one he had used that fateful +night of the raid. And Pete would not do that. He felt that somehow +he had been cheated. Even the storekeeper Roth discouraged him from +using fire-arms, fearing that the boy might some day "cut loose" at +somebody without word or warning. Pete was well fed and did not have +to work hard, yet his ideas of what constituted a living were far +removed from the conventions of Concho. He wanted to ride, to hunt, to +drive team, to work in the open with lots of elbow-room and under a +wide sky. His one solace while in the store was the array of rifles +and six-guns which he almost reverenced for their suggestive potency. +They represented power, and the only law that he believed in. + +Some time after Pete had disappeared, the store-keeper, going over his +stock, missed a heavy-caliber six-shooter. He wondered if the boy had +taken it. Roth did not care so much for the loss of the gun as for the +fact that Pete might have stolen it. Later Roth discovered a crudely +printed slip of paper among the trinkets in the showcase. "I took a +gun and cartriges for my wagges. You never giv me Wages." Which was +true enough, the storekeeper figuring that Pete's board and lodging +were just about offset by his services. In paying Pete a dollar a +week, Annersley had established a precedent which involved Young Pete's +pride as a wage-earner. In making Pete feel that he was really worth +more than his board and lodging, Annersley had helped the boy to a +certain self-respect which Pete subconsciously felt that he had lost +when Roth, the storekeeper, gave him a home and work but no pay. Young +Pete did not dislike Roth, but the contrast of Roth's close methods +with the large, free-handed dealings of Annersley was ever before him. +Pete was strong for utility. He had no boyish sense of the dramatic, +consciously. He had never had time to play. Everything he did, he did +seriously. So when he left Concho at dusk one summer evening, he did +not "run away" in any sense. He simply decided that it was time to go +elsewhere--and he went. + +The old Mexican, Montoya, had a band of sheep in the high country. +Recently the sheep had drifted past Concho, and Pete, alive to anything +and everything that was going somewhere, had waited on the Mexican at +the store. Sugar, coffee, flour, and beans were packed on the shaggy +burros. Pete helped carry the supplies to the doorway and watched him +pack. The two sharp-nosed sheep-dogs interested Pete. They seemed so +alert, and yet so quietly satisfied with their lot. The last thing the +old Mexican did was to ask for a few cartridges. Pete did not +understand just what kind he wanted. With a secretiveness which +thrilled Pete clear to the toes, the old herder, in the shadowy rear of +the store, drew a heavy six-shooter from under his arm and passed it +stealthily to Pete, who recognized the caliber and found cartridges for +it. Pete's manner was equally stealthy. This smacked of adventure! +Cattlemen and sheepmen were not friendly, as Pete knew. Pete had no +love for the "woolies," yet he hated cattlemen. The old Mexican +thanked him and invited him to visit his camp below Concho. Possibly +Pete never would have left the storekeeper--or at least not +immediately--had not that good man, always willing to cater to Pete's +curiosity as to guns and gunmen, told him that old Montoya, while a +Mexican, was a dangerous man with a six-gun; that he was seldom +molested by the cattlemen, who knew him to be absolutely without fear +and a dead shot. + +"Huh! That old herder ain't no gun-fighter!" Pete had said, although +he believed the storekeeper. Pete wanted to hear more. + +"Most Mexicans ain't," replied Roth, for Pete's statement was half a +challenge, half a question. "But José Montoya never backed down from a +fight--and he's had plenty." + +Pete was interested. He determined to visit Montoya's camp that +evening. He said nothing to Roth, as he intended to return. + +Long before Pete arrived at the camp he saw the tiny fire--a dot of red +against the dark--and he heard the muffled trampling of the sheep as +they bedded down for the night. Within a few yards of the camp the +dogs challenged him, charging down the gentle slope to where he stood. +Pete paid no attention to them, but marched up to the fire. Old +Montoya rose and greeted him pleasantly. Another Mexican, a slim +youth, bashfully acknowledged Pete's presence and called in the dogs. +Pete, who had known many outland camp-fires, made himself at home, +sitting cross-legged and affecting a mature indifference. The old +Mexican smoked and studied the youngster, amused by his evident attempt +to appear grown-up and disinterested. + +"That gun, he poke you in the rib, hey?"--and Montoya chuckled. + +Pete flushed and glanced down at the half-concealed weapon beneath his +arm. "Tied her on with string--ain't got no shoulder holster," Pete +explained in an offhand way. + +"What you do with him?" The old Mexican's deep-set eyes twinkled. +Pete studied Montoya's face. This was a direct but apparently friendly +query. Pete wondered if he should answer evasively or directly. The +fact was that he did not know just why he had taken the gun--or what he +intended to do with it. After all, it was none of Montoya's business, +yet Pete did not wish to offend the old man. He wanted to hear more +about gun-fights with the cattlemen. + +"Well, seein' it's you, señor,"--Pete adopted the grand air as most +befitting the occasion,--"I'm packin' this here gun to fight +cow-punchers with. Reckon you don't know some cow-punchers killed my +dad. I was just a kid then. [Pete was now nearly fourteen.] Some day +I'm goin' to git the man what killed him." + +Montoya did not smile. This muchacho evidently had spirit. Pete's +invention, made on the spur of the moment, had hit "plumb center," as +he told himself. For Montoya immediately became gracious, proffered +Pete tobacco and papers, and suggested coffee, which the young Mexican +made while Pete and the old man chatted. Pete was deeply impressed by +his reception. He felt that he had made a hit with Montoya--and that +the other had taken him seriously. Most men did not, despite the fact +that he was accredited with having slain two T-Bar-T cowboys. A +strange sympathy grew between this old Mexican and the lean, +bright-eyed young boy. Perhaps Pete's swarthy coloring and black eyes +had something to do with it. Possibly Pete's assurance, as contrasted +with the bashfulness and timidity of the old Mexican's nephew, had +something to do with Montoya's immediate friendliness. In any event, +the visit ended with an invitation to Pete to become a permanent member +of the sheep-camp, Montoya explaining that his nephew wanted to go +home; that he did not like the loneliness of a herder's life. + +Pete had witnessed too many horse-trades to accept this proposal at +once. His face expressed deep cogitation, as he flicked the ashes from +his cigarette and shook his head. "I dunno. Roth is a pretty good +boss. 'Course, he ain't no gun-fighter--and that's kind of in your +favor--" + +"What hombre say I make fight with gun?" queried Montoya. + +"Why, everybody! I reckon they's mighty few of 'em want to stack up +against you." + +Montoya frowned. "I don' talk like that," he said, shrugging his +shoulders. + +Pete felt that he was getting in deep--but he had a happy inspiration. +"You don't have to talk. Your ole forty-four does the talking I +reckon." + +"You come and cook?" queried Montoya, coming straight to the point. + +"I dunno, amigo. I'll think about it." + +"Bueno. It is dark, I will walk with you to Concho." + +"You think I'm a kid?" flared Pete. "If was dark when I come over here +and it ain't any darker now. I ain't no doggone cow-puncher what's got +to git on a hoss afore he dast go anywhere." + +Montoya laughed. "You come to-morrow night, eh?" + +"Reckon I will." + +"Then the camp will be over there--in the cañon. You will see the +fire." + +"I'll come over and have a talk anyway," said Pete, still unwilling to +let Montoya think him anxious. "Buenos noches!" + +Montoya nodded. "He will come," he said to his nephew. "Then it is +that you may go to the home. He is small--but of the very great +courage." + +The following evening Pete appeared at the herder's camp. The dogs ran +out, sniffed at him, and returned to the fire. Montoya made a place +for him on the thick sheepskins and asked him if he had eaten. Yes, he +had had supper, but he had no blankets. Could Montoya let him have a +blanket until he had earned enough money to buy one? + +The old herder told him that he could have the nephew's blankets; Pedro +was to leave camp next day and go home. As for money, Montoya did not +pay wages. Of course, for tobacco, or a coat or pants, he could have +the money when he needed them. + +Pete felt a bit taken aback. He had burnt his bridges--he could not +return to Concho--yet he wanted a definite wage. "I kin pack--make and +break camp--and sure cook the frijoles. Pop learned me all that; but +he was payin' me a dollar a week. He said I was jest as good as a man. +A dollar a week ain't much." + +The old herder shook his head. "Not until I sell the wool can I pay." + +"When do you sell that wool?" + +"When the pay for it is good. Sometimes I wait." + +"Well, I kin see where I don't get rich herdin' sheep." + +"We shall see. Perhaps, if you are a good boy--" + +"You got me wrong, señor. Roth he said I was the limit--and even my +old pop said I was a tough kid. I ain't doin' this for my health. I +hooked up with you 'cause I kinda thought--" + +"Si?" + +"Well, Roth was tellin' as how you could make a six-gun smoke faster +than most any hombre a-livin'. Now, I was figurin' if you would show +me how to work this ole smoke-wagon here"--and Pete touched the huge +lump beneath his shirt--"why, that would kinda be like wages--but I +ain't got no money to buy cartridges." + +"I, José de la Crux Montoya, will show you how to work him. It is a +big gun for such a chico." + +"Oh, I reckon I kin hold her down. When do we start the shootin' +match?" + +Montoya smiled. + +"Mañana, perhaps." + +"Then that's settled!" Pete heaved a sigh. "But how am I goin' to git +them cartridges?" + +"From the store." + +"That's all right. But how many do I git for workin' for you?" + +Montoya laughed outright. "You will become a good man with the sheep. +You will not waste the flour and the beans and the coffee and the +sugar, like Pedro here. You will count and not say--'Oh, I think it's +so much'--and because of that I will buy you two boxes of cartridges." + +"Two boxes--a hundred a month?" + +"Even so. You will waste many until you learn." + +"Shake!" said Pete. "That suits me! And if any doggone ole brush-cats +or lion or bear come pokin' around this here camp, we'll sure smoke 'em +up. And if any of them cow-chasers from the mountain or the Concho +starts monkeyin' with our sheep, there's sure goin' to be a cowboy +funeral in these parts! You done hired a good man when you hired me!" + +"We shall see," said Montoya, greatly amused. "But there is much work +to be done as well as the shooting." + +"I'll be there!" exclaimed Pete. "What makes them sheep keep a-moanin' +and a-bawlin' and a-shufflin' round? Don't they never git to sleep?" + +"Si, but it is a new camp. To-morrow night they will be quiet. It is +always so." + +"Well, they sure make enough noise. When do we git goin'?" + +"Pedro, he will leave mañana. In two days we will move the camp." + +"All right. I don't reckon Roth would be lookin' for me in any +sheep-camp anyhow." Young Pete was not afraid of the storekeeper, but +the fact that he had taken the gun troubled him, even though he had +left a note explaining that he took the gun in lieu of wages. He +shared Pedro's blankets, but slept little. The sheep milled and bawled +most of the night. Even before daybreak Pete was up and building a +fire. The sheep poured from the bedding-ground and pattered down to +the cañon stream. Later they spread out across the wide cañon-bottom +and grazed, watched by the dogs. + +Full-fed and happy, Young Pete helped Pedro clean the camp-utensils. +The morning sun, pushing up past the cañon-rim, picked out the details +of the camp one by one--the smouldering fire of cedar wood, the packs, +saddles and ropes, the water-cask, the lazy burros waiting for the sun +to warm them to action, the blankets and sheepskin bedding, and farther +down the cañon a still figure standing on a slight rise of ground and +gazing into space--the figure of José de la Crux Montoya, the +sheep-herder whom Roth had said feared no man and was a dead shot. + +Pete knew Spanish--he had heard little else spoken in Concho--and he +thought that "Joseph of the Cross" was a strange name for a recognized +gunman. "But Mexicans always stick crosses over graves," soliloquized +Pete. "Mebby that's why he's got that fancy name. Gee! But this sure +beats tendin' store!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +NEW VISTAS + +Much that Annersley had taught Pete was undone in the lazy, listless +life of the sheep-camp. There was a certain slow progressiveness about +it, however, that saved it from absolute monotony. Each day the sheep +grazed out, the distance being automatically adjusted by the coming of +night, when they were bunched and slowly drifted back to the +bedding-ground. A day or two--depending on the grazing--and they were +bedded in a new place as the herder worked toward the low country +followed by a recurrent crispness in the air that presaged the coming +of winter in the hills. Pete soon realized that, despite their seeming +independence, sheep-men were slaves of the seasons. They "followed the +grass" and fled from cold weather and snow. At times, if the winter +was severe in the lower levels, they even had to winter-feed to save +the band. Lambs became tired or sick--unable to follow the ewes--and +Pete often found some lone lamb hiding beneath a clump of brush where +it would have perished had he not carried it on to the flock and +watched it until it grew stronger. He learned that sheep were +gregarious--that a sheep left alone on the mesa, no matter how strong, +through sheer loneliness would cease to eat and slowly starve to death. +Used to horses, Pete looked upon sheep with contempt. They had neither +individual nor collective intelligence. Let them once become +frightened and if not immediately headed off by the dogs, they would +stampede over the brink of an arroyo and trample each other to death. +This all but happened once when Montoya was buying provisions in town +and Pete was in charge of the band. The camp was below the rim of a +cañon. The sheep were scattered over a mile or so of mesa, grazing +contentedly. The dogs, out-posted on either side of the flock, were +resting, but alert. To the left, some distance from the sheep, was the +cañon-rim and a trail, gatewayed by two huge boulders, man-high, with +about enough space between them for a burro to pass. A horse could +hardly have squeezed through. Each night the sheep were headed for +this pass and worked through, one at a time, stringing down the trail +below which was steep and sandy. At the cañon bottom was water and +across the shallows were the bedding-grounds and the camp. Pete, +drowsing in the sun, occasionally glanced up at the flock. He saw no +need for standing up, as Montoya always did when out with the band. +The sheep were all right--and the day was hot. Presently Pete became +interested in a mighty battle between a colony of red ants which seemed +to be attacking a colony of big black ants that had in some way +infringed on some international agreement, or overstepped the +color-line. Pete picked up a twig and hastily scraped up a sand +barricade, to protect the red ants, who, despite their valor, seemed to +be getting the worst of it. Black ants scurried to the top of the +barricade to be grappled by the tiny red ants, who fought valiantly. +Pete saw a red ant meet one of the enemy who was twice his size, +wrestle with him and finally best him. Evidently this particular black +ant, though deceased, was of some importance, possibly an officer, for +the little red ant seized him and bore him bodily to the rear where he +in turn collapsed and was carried to the adjoining ant-hill by two of +his comrades evidently detailed on ambulance work. "Everybody +scraps--even the bugs," said Pete. "Them little red cusses sure ain't +scared o' nothin'." Stream after stream of red ants hastened to +reinforce their comrades on the barricade. The battle became general. +Pete grew excited. He was scraping up another barricade when he heard +one of the dogs bark. He glanced up. The sheep, frightened by a +buzzard that had swooped unusually close to them, bunched and shot +toward the cañon in a cloud of dust. Pete jumped to his feet and ran +swiftly toward the rock gateway to head them off. He knew that they +would make for the trail, and that those that did not get through the +pass would trample the weaker sheep to death. The dog on the cañon +side of the band raced across their course, snapping at the foremost in +a sturdy endeavor to turn them. But he could not. He ran, nipped a +sheep, and then jumped back to save himself from being cut to pieces by +the blundering feet. Young Pete saw that he could not reach the pass +ahead of them. Out of breath and half-sobbing as he realized the +futility of his effort, he suddenly recalled an incident like this when +Montoya, failing to head the band in a similar situation, had coolly +shot the leader and had broken the stampede. + +Pete immediately sat down, and rested the barrel of his six-shooter on +his knee. He centered on the pass. A few seconds--and a big ram, +several feet ahead of the others, dashed into the notch. Pete grasped +his gun with both hands and fired. The ram reared and dropped just +within the rocky gateway. Pete saw another sheep jump over the ram and +disappear. Pete centered on the notch again and as the gray mass +bunched and crowded together to get through, he fired. Another sheep +toppled and fell. Still the sheep rushed on, crowding against the +rocks and trampling each other in a frantic endeavor to get through. +Occasionally one of the leaders leaped over the two dead sheep and +disappeared down the trail. But the first force of their stampede was +checked. Dropping his gun, Pete jumped up and footed it for the notch, +waving his hat as he ran. Bleating and bawling, the band turned slowly +and swung parallel to the cañon-rim. The dogs, realizing that they +could now turn the sheep back, joined forces, and running a ticklish +race along the very edge of the cañon, headed the band toward the safe +ground to the west. Pete, as he said later, "cussed 'em a plenty." +When he took up his station between the band and the cañon, wondering +what Montoya would say when he returned. + +When the old Mexican, hazing the burros across the mesa, saw Pete wave +his hat, he knew that something unusual had happened. Montoya shrugged +his shoulders as Pete told of the stampede. + +"So it is with the sheep," said Montoya casually. "These we will take +away, for the sheep will smell the blood and not go down the trail." +And he pointed to the ram and the ewe that Pete had shot. "I will go +to the camp and unpack. You have killed two good sheep, but you have +saved many." + +Pete said nothing about the battle of the ants. He knew that he had +been remiss, but he thought that in eventually turning the sheep he had +made up for it. + +And because Pete was energetic, self-reliant, and steady, capable of +taking the burros into town and packing back provisions promptly--for +Pete, unlike most boys, did not care to loaf about town--the old herder +became exceedingly fond of him, although he seldom showed it in a +direct way. Rather, he taught Pete Mexican--colloquialisms and idioms +that are not found in books--until Pete, who already knew enough of the +language to get along handily, became thoroughly at home whenever he +chanced to meet a Mexican--herder, cowboy, or storekeeper. Naturally, +Pete did not appreciate the value of this until later--when his +familiarity with the language helped him out of many a tight place. +But what Pete did appreciate was the old herder's skill with the +six-gun--his uncanny ability to shoot from any position on the instant +and to use the gun with either hand with equal facility. In one of the +desert towns Pete had traded a mountain-lion skin for a belt and +holster and several boxes of cartridges to boot, for Pete was keen at +bargaining. Later the old Mexican cut down the belt to fit Pete and +taught him how to hang the gun to the best advantage. Then he taught +Pete to "draw," impressing upon him that while accuracy was exceedingly +desirable, a quick draw was absolutely essential. Pete practiced early +and late, more than disgusted because Montoya made him practice with an +empty gun. He "threw down" on moving sheep, the dogs, an occasional +distant horseman, and even on Montoya himself, but never until the old +herder had examined the weapon and assured himself that he would not be +suddenly bumped off into glory by his ambitious assistant. As some men +play cards, partly for amusement and partly to keep their hands in, so +Pete and Montoya played the six-gun game, and neither seemed to tire of +the amusement. Montoya frequently unloaded his own gun and making sure +that Pete had done likewise, the old herder would stand opposite him +and count--"Una, duo, tres," and the twain would "go for their guns" to +see who would get in the first theoretical shot. At first Pete was +slow. His gun was too heavy for him and his wrist was not quick. But +he stuck to it until finally he could draw and shoot almost as fast as +his teacher. Later they practiced while sitting down, while reclining +propped on one elbow, and finally from a prone position, where Pete +learned to roll sideways, draw and shoot even as a side-winder of the +desert strikes without coiling. Montoya taught him to throw a shot +over his shoulder, to "roll" his gun, to pretend to surrender it, and, +handing it out butt first, flip it over and shoot the theoretical +enemy. He also taught him one trick which, while not considered +legitimate by most professional gunmen, was exceedingly worth while on +account of its deadly unexpectedness--and that was to shoot through the +open holster without drawing the gun. Such practice allowed of only a +limited range, never higher than a man's belt, but as Montoya +explained, a shot belt-high and center was most effective. + +Pete took an almost vicious delight in perfecting himself in this +trick. He knew of most of the other methods--but shooting with the gun +in the holster was difficult and for close-range work, and just in +proportion to its difficulty Pete persevered. + +He was fond of Montoya in an offhand way, but with the lessons in +gunmanship his fondness became almost reverence for the old man's easy +skill and accuracy. Despite their increasing friendliness, Pete could +never get Montoya to admit that he had killed a man--and Pete thought +this strange, at that time. + +Pete's lessons were not always without grief. Montoya, ordinarily +genial, was a hard master to please. Finally, when Pete was allowed to +use ammunition in his practice, and insisted on sighting at an object, +Montoya reproved him sharply for wasting time. "It is like this," he +would say; illustrating on the instant he would throw a shot into the +chance target without apparent aim. Once he made Pete put down his gun +and take up a handful of stones. "Now shoot," he said. Pete, much +chagrined, pelted the stones rapidly at the empty can target. To his +surprise he missed it only once. "Now shoot him like that," said +Montoya. Pete, chafing because of this "kid stuff," as he called the +stone-throwing, picked up his gun and "threw" five shots at the can. +He was angry and he shot fast, but he hit the can twice. From that +minute he "caught on." Speed tended toward accuracy, premising one was +used to the "feel" of a gun. And accuracy tended toward speed, giving +one assurance. Even as one must throw a stone with speed to be +accurate, so one must shoot with speed. It was all easy enough--like +everything else--when you had the hang of it. + +How often a hero of fiction steps into a story--or rides into it--whose +deadly accuracy, lightning-like swiftness, appalling freedom from +accident, ostrich-like stomach and camel-like ability to go without +water, earn him the plaudits of a legion of admiring readers. Apropos +of such a hero, your old-timer will tell you, "that there ain't no such +animal." If your old-timer is a friend--perchance carrying the +never-mentioned scars of cattle-wars and frontier raids--he may tell +you that many of the greatest gunmen practiced early and late, spent +all their spare money on ammunition, never "showed-off" before an +audience, always took careful advantage of every fighting chance, saved +their horses and themselves from undue fatigue when possible, never +killed a man when they could avoid killing him, bore themselves +quietly, didn't know the meaning of Romance, but were strong for +utility, and withal worked as hard and suffered as much in becoming +proficient in their vocation as the veriest artisan of the cities. +Circumstances, hazard, untoward event, even inclination toward +excitement, made some of these men heroes, but never in their own eyes. +There were exceptions, of course, but most of the exceptions were +buried. + +And Young Pete, least of all, dreamed of becoming a hero. He liked +guns and all that pertained to them. The feel of a six-shooter in his +hand gave him absolute pleasure. The sound of a six-shooter was music +to him, and the potency contained in the polished cylinder filled with +blunt-nosed slugs was something that he could appreciate. He was a +born gunman, as yet only in love with the tools of his trade, +interested more in the manipulation than in eventual results. He +wished to become expert, but in becoming expert he forgot for the time +being his original intent of eventually becoming the avenger of +Annersley. Pride in his ability to draw quick and shoot straight, with +an occasional word of praise from old Montoya, pretty well satisfied +him. When he was not practicing he was working, and thought only of +the task at hand. + +Pete was generally liked in the towns where he occasionally bought +provisions. He was known as "Montoya's boy," and the townsfolk had a +high respect for the old Mexican. One circumstance, however, ruffled +the placid tenor of his way and tended to give him the reputation of +being a "bronco muchacho"--a rough boy; literally a bad boy, as white +folks would have called him. + +Montoya sent him into town for some supplies. As usual, Pete rode one +of the burros. It was customary for Pete to leave his gun in camp when +going to town. Montoya had suggested that he do this, as much for +Pete's sake as for anything else. The old man knew that slightly older +boys were apt to make fun of Pete for packing such a disproportionately +large gun--or, in fact, for packing any gun at all. And Montoya also +feared that Pete might get into trouble. Pete was pugnacious, +independent, and while always possessing enough humor to hold his own +in a wordy argument, he had much pride, considering himself the equal +of any man and quite above the run of youths of the towns. And he +disliked Mexicans--Montoya being the one exception. This morning he +did not pack his gun, but hung it on the cross-tree of the pack-saddle. +There were many brush rabbits on the mesa, and they made interesting +targets. + +About noon he arrived at the town--Laguna. He bought the few +provisions necessary and piled them on the ground near his burros. He +had brought some cold meat and bread with him which he ate, squatted +out in front of the store. Several young loafers gathered round and +held high argument among themselves as to whether Pete was a Mexican or +not. This in itself was not altogether pleasing to Pete. He knew that +he was tanned to a swarthy hue, was naturally of a dark complexion, and +possessed black hair and eyes. But his blood rebelled at even the +suggestion that he was a Mexican. He munched his bread and meat, +tossed the crumbs to a stray dog and rolled a cigarette. One of the +Mexican boys asked him for tobacco and papers. Pete gladly proffered +"the makings." The Mexican youth rolled a cigarette and passed the +sack of tobacco to his companions. Pete eyed this breach of etiquette +sternly, and received the sack back, all but empty. But still he said +nothing, but rose and entering the store--a rambling, flat-roofed +adobe--bought another sack of tobacco. When he came out the boys were +laughing. He caught a word or two which drove the jest home. In the +vernacular, he was "an easy mark." + +"Mebby I am," he said in Mexican. "But I got the price to buy my +smokes. I ain't no doggone loafer." + +The Mexican youth who had asked for the tobacco retorted with some more +or less vile language, intimating that Pete was neither Mexican nor +white--an insult compared to which mere anathema was as nothing. Pete +knew that if he started a row he would get properly licked--that the +boys would all pile on him and chase him out of town. So he turned his +back on the group and proceeded to pack the burros. The Mexican boys +forgot the recent unpleasantness in watching him pack. They realized +that he knew his business. But Pete was not through with them yet. +When he had the burros in shape to travel he picked up the stick with +which he hazed them and faced the group. What he said to them was +enough with some to spare for future cogitation. He surpassed mere +invective with flaming innuendos as to the ancestry, habits, and +appearance of these special gentlemen and of Mexicans in general. He +knew Mexicans and knew where he could hit hardest. He wound up with +gentle intimation that the town would have made a respectable pigsty, +but that a decent pig would have a hard time keeping his self-respect +among so many descendants of the canine tribe. It was a beautiful, an +eloquent piece of work, and even as he delivered it he felt rather +proud of his command of the Mexican idiom. Then he made a mistake. He +promptly turned his back and started the burros toward the distant +camp. Had he kept half an eye on the boys he might have avoided +trouble. But he had turned his back. They thought that he was both +angry and afraid. They also made a slight mistake. The youth who had +borrowed the tobacco and who had taken most of Pete's eloquence to +heart--for he had inspired it--called the dog that lay back of them in +the shade and set him on Pete and the burros. If a burro hates +anything it is to be attacked by a dog. Pete whirled and swung his +stick. The dog, a huge, lean, coyote-faced animal, dodged and snapped +at the nearest burro's heels. That placid animal promptly bucked and +ran. His brother burro took the cue and did likewise. Presently the +immediate half-mile square was decorated with loose provisions--sugar, +beans, flour, a few cans of tomatoes, and chiles broken from the sack +and strung out in every direction. The burros became a seething cloud +of dust in the distance. Pete chased the dog which naturally circled +and ran back of the group of the store. Older Mexicans gathered and +laughed. The boys, feeling secure in the presence of their seniors, +added their shrill yelps of pleasure. Pete, boiling internally, +white-faced and altogether too quiet, slowly gathered up what +provisions were usable. Presently he came upon his gun, which had been +bucked from the pack-saddle. The Mexicans were still laughing when he +strode back to the store. The dog, scenting trouble, bristled and +snarled, baring his long fangs and standing with one forefoot raised. +Before the assembly realized what had happened, Pete had whipped out +his gun. With the crash of the shot the dog doubled up and dropped in +his tracks. The boys scattered and ran. Pete cut loose in their +general direction. They ran faster. The older folk, chattering and +scolding, backed into the store. "Montoya's boy was loco. He would +kill somebody!" Some of the women crossed themselves. The +storekeeper, who knew Pete slightly, ventured out. He argued with +Pete, who blinked and nodded, but would not put up his gun. The +Mexicans feared him for the very fact that he was a boy and might do +anything. Had he been a man he might have been shot. But this did not +occur to Pete. He was fighting mad. His burros were gone and his +provisions scattered, save a few canned tomatoes that had not suffered +damage. The storekeeper started toward him. Pete centered on that +worthy's belt-buckle and told him to stay where he was. + +"I'll blow a hole in you that you can drive a team through if you come +near me!" asserted Pete. "I come in here peaceful, and you doggone +Cholas wrecked my outfit and stampeded my burros; but they ain't no +Mexican can run a whizzer on me twict. I'm white--see!" + +"It is not I that did this thing," said the storekeeper. + +"No, but the doggone town did! I reckon when José Montoya comes in and +wants his grub, you'll settle all right. And he's comin'!" + +"Then you will go and not shoot any one?" + +"When I git ready. But you kin tell your outfit that the first Chola +that follows me is goin' to run up ag'inst a slug that'll bust him wide +open. I'm goin'--but I'm comin' back." + +Pete, satisfied that he had conducted himself in a manner befitting the +occasion, backed away a few steps and finally turned and marched across +the mesa. They had wrecked his outfit. He'd show 'em! Old Montoya +knew that something was wrong when the burros drifted in with their +pack-saddles askew. He thought that possibly some coyote had stampeded +them. He righted the pack-saddles and drove the burros back toward +Laguna. Halfway across the mesa he met Pete, who told him what had +happened. Montoya said nothing. Pete had hoped that his master would +rave and threaten all sorts of vengeance. But the old man simply +nodded, and plodding along back of the burros, finally entered Laguna +and strode up to the store. All sorts of stories were afloat, stories +which Montoya discounted liberally, because he knew Pete. The owner of +the dog claimed damages. Montoya, smiling inwardly, referred that +gentleman to Pete, who stood close to his employer, hoping that he +would start a real row, but pretty certain that he would not. That was +Montoya's way. The scattered provisions as far as possible were +salvaged and fresh supplies loaded on the burros. When Montoya was +ready to leave he turned to the few Mexicans in front of the store: +"When I send my boy in here for flour and the beans and the sugar, it +will be well to keep the dogs away--and to remember that it is Jose de +la Crux that has sent him. For the new provisions I do not pay. +Adios, señors." + +Pete thought that this was rather tame--but still Montoya's manner was +decidedly business-like. No one controverted him--not even the +storekeeper, who was the loser. + +A small crowd had assembled. Excitement such as this was rare in +Laguna. While still in plain sight of the group about the store, and +as Montoya plodded slowly along behind the burros, Pete turned and +launched his parthian shot--that eloquently expressive gesture of +contempt and scorn wherein is employed the thumb, the nose, and the +outspread fingers of one hand. He was still very much a boy. + +About a year later--after drifting across a big territory of grazing +land, winter-feeding the sheep near Largo, and while preparing to drive +south again and into the high country--Pete met young Andy White, a +clean-cut, sprightly cowboy riding for the Concho outfit. Andy had +ridden down to Largo on some errand or other and had tied his pony in +front of the store when Montoya's sheep billowed down the street and +frightened the pony. Young Pete, hazing the burros, saw the pony pull +back and break the reins, whirl and dash out into the open and circle +the mesa with head and tail up. It was a young horse, not actually +wild, but decidedly frisky. Pete had not been on a horse for many +months. The beautiful pony, stamping and snorting in the morning sun, +thrilled Pete clear to his toes. To ride--anywhere--what a contrast to +plodding along with the burros! To feel a horse between his knees +again! To swing up and ride--ride across the mesa to that dim line of +hills where the sun touched the blue of the timber and the gold of the +quaking-asp and burned softly on the far woodland trail that led south +and south across the silent ranges! Pete snatched a rope from the pack +and walked out toward the pony. That good animal, a bit afraid of the +queer figure in the flapping overalls and flop-brimmed sombrero, +snorted and swung around facing him. Dragging his rope, Pete walked +slowly forward. The pony stopped and flung up its head. Pete flipped +the loop and set back on his heels. The rope ran taut. Pete was +prepared for the usual battle, but the pony, instead, "came to the +rope" and sniffed curiously at Pete, who patted his nose and talked to +him. Assured that his strange captor knew horses, the pony allowed him +to slip the rope round his nose and mount without even sidling. Pete +was happy. This was something like! As for Montoya and the +sheep--they were drifting on in a cloud of dust, the burros following +placidly. + +"You sure caught him slick." + +Pete nodded to the bright-faced young cowboy who had stepped up to him. +Andy White was older than Pete, heavier and taller, with keen blue eyes +and an expression as frank and fearless as the morning itself. In +contrast, Young Pete was lithe and dark, his face was more mature, more +serious, and his black eyes seemed to see everything at a glance--a +quick, indifferent glance that told no one what was behind the +expression. Andy was light-skinned and ruddy. Pete was swarthy and +black-haired. For a second or so they stood, then White genially +thrust out his hand. "Thanks!" he said heartily. "You sabe 'em." + +It was a little thing to say and yet it touched Pete's pride. Deep in +his heart he was a bit ashamed of consorting with a sheep-herder--a +Mexican; and to be recognized as being familiar with horses pleased him +more than his countenance showed. "Yes. I handled 'em +some--tradin'--when I was a kid." + +Andy glanced at the boyish figure and smiled. "You're wastin' good +time with that outfit,"--and he gestured with his thumb toward the +sheep. + +"Oh, I dunno. José Montoya ain't so slow--with a gun." + +Andy White laughed. "Old Crux ain't a bad old scout--but you ain't a +Mexican. Anybody can see that!" + +"Well, just for fun--suppose I was." + +"It would be different," said Andy. "You're white, all right!" + +"Meanin' my catchin' your cayuse. Well, anybody'd do that." + +"They ain't nothin' to drink but belly-wash in this town," said Andy +boyishly. "But you come along down to the store an' I'll buy." + +"I'll go you! I see you're ridin' for the Concho." + +"Uh-huh, a year." + +Pete walked beside this new companion and Pete was thinking hard. +"What's your name?" he queried suddenly. + +"White--Andy White. What's yours?" + +"Pete Annersley," he replied proudly. + +They sat outside the store and drank bottled pop and swapped youthful +yarns of the range and camp until Pete decided that he had better go. +But his heart was no longer with the sheep. + +He rose and shook hands with Andy. "If you git a chanct, ride over to +our camp sometime. I'm goin' up the Largo. You can find us. +Mebby"--and he hesitated, eying the pony--"mebby I might git a chanct +to tie up to your outfit. I'm sick of the woolies." + +"Don't blame you, amigo. If I hear of anything I'll come a-fannin' and +tell you. So-long. She's one lovely mornin'." + +Pete turned and plodded down the dusty road. Far ahead the sheep +shuffled along, the dogs on either side of the band and old Montoya +trudging behind and driving the burros. Pete said nothing as he caught +up with Montoya, merely taking his place and hazing the burros toward +their first camp in the cañon. + +It was an aimless life, with little chance of excitement; but riding +range--that was worth while! Already Pete had outgrown any sense of +dependency on the old Mexican. He felt that he was his own man. He +had been literally raised with the horses and until this morning he had +not missed them so much. But the pony and the sprightly young cowboy, +with his keen, smiling face and swinging chaps, had stirred longings in +Young Pete's heart that no amount of ease or outdoor freedom with the +sheep could satisfy. He wanted action. His life with Montoya had made +him careless but not indolent. He felt a touch of shame, realizing +that such a thought was disloyal to Montoya, who had done so much for +him. But what sentiment Pete had, ceased immediately, however, when +the main chance loomed, and he thought he saw his fortune shaping +toward the range and the cow-ponies. He had liked Andy White from the +beginning. Perhaps they could arrange to ride together if he (Pete) +could get work with the Concho outfit. The gist of it all was that +Pete was lonely and did not realize it. Montoya was much older, grave, +and often silent for days. He seemed satisfied with the life. Pete, +in his way, had aspirations--vague as yet, but slowly shaping toward a +higher plane than the herding of sheep. He had had experiences enough +for a man twice his age, and he knew that he had ability. As Andy +White had said, it was wasting good time, this sheep-herding. Well, +perhaps something would turn up. In the meantime there was camp to +make, water to pack, and plenty of easy detail to take up his immediate +time. Perhaps he would talk with Montoya after supper about making a +change. Perhaps not. It might be better to wait until he saw Andy +White again. + +In camp that night Montoya asked Pete if he were sick. Pete shook his +head; "Jest thinkin'," he replied. + +Old Montoya, wise in his way, knew that something had occurred, yet he +asked no further questions, but rolled a cigarette and smoked, +wondering whether Young Pete were dissatisfied with the pay he gave +him--for Pete now got two dollars a week and his meals. Montoya +thought of offering him more. The boy was worth more. But he would +wait. If Pete showed any disposition to leave, then would be time +enough to speak. So they sat by the fire in the keen evening air, each +busy with his own thoughts, while the restless sheep bedded down, +bleating and shuffling, and the dogs lay with noses toward the fire, +apparently dozing, but ever alert for a stampede; alert for any +possibility--even as were Montoya and Pete, although outwardly placid +and silent. + +Next morning, after the sheep were out, Pete picked up a pack-rope and +amused himself by flipping the loop on the burros, the clumps of brush, +stubs, and limbs, keeping at it until the old herder noticed and +nodded. "He is thinking of the cattle," soliloquized Montoya. "I will +have to get a new boy some day. But he will speak, and then I shall +know." + +While Pete practiced with the rope he was figuring how long it would +take him to save exactly eighteen dollars and a half, for that was the +price of a Colt's gun such as he had taken from the store at Concho. +Why he should think of saving the money for a gun is not quite clear. +He already had one. Possibly because they were drifting back toward +the town of Concho, Pete wished to be prepared in case Roth asked him +about the gun. Pete had eleven dollars pinned in the watch-pocket of +his overalls. In three weeks, at most, they would drive past Concho. +He would then have seventeen dollars. Among his personal effects he +had two bobcat skins and a coyote-hide. Perhaps he could sell them for +a dollar or two. How often did Andy White ride the Largo Cañon? The +Concho cattle grazed to the east. Perhaps White had forgotten his +promise to ride over some evening. Pete swung his loop and roped a +clump of brush. "I'll sure forefoot you, you doggone longhorn!" he +said. "I'll git my iron on you, you maverick! I'm the Ridin' Kid from +Powder River, and I ride 'em straight up an' comin'." So he romanced, +his feet on the ground, but his heart with the bawling herd and the +charging ponies. "Like to rope a lion," he told himself as he swung +his rope again. "Same as High-Chin Bob." Just then one of the dogs, +attracted by Pete's unusual behavior, trotted up. + +Pete's rope shot out and dropped. The dog had never been roped. His +dignity was assaulted. He yelped and started straightway for Montoya, +who stood near the band, gazing, as ever, into space. Just as the rope +came taut, Pete's foot slipped and he lost the rope. The dog, +frightened out of his wits, charged down on the sheep. The trailing +rope startled them. They sagged in, crowding away from the +terror-stricken dog. Fear, among sheep, spreads like fire in dry +grass. In five seconds the band was running, with Montoya calling to +the dogs and Pete trying to capture the flying cause of the trouble. + +When the sheep were turned and had resumed their grazing, Montoya, who +had caught the roped dog, strode to Pete. "It was a bad thing to do," +he said easily. "Why did you rope him?" + +Pete scowled and stammered. "Thought he was a lion. He came a-tearin' +up, and I was thinkin' o' lions. So, I jest nacherally loops him. I +was praticin'." + +"First it was the gun. Now it is the rope," said Montoya, smiling. +"You make a vaquero, some day, I think." + +"Oh, mebby. But I sure won't quit you till you get 'em over the range, +even if I do git a chanct to ride for some outfit. But I ain't got a +job, yet." + +"I would not like to have you go," said Montoya. "You are a good boy." + +Pete had nothing to say. He wished Montoya had not called him "a good +boy." That hurt. If Montoya had only scolded him for stampeding the +sheep. . . . But Montoya had spoken in a kindly way. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +PLANS + +Several nights later a horseman rode into Montoya's camp. Pete, +getting supper, pretended great indifference until he heard the +horseman's voice. It was young Andy White who had come to visit, as he +had promised. Pete's heart went warm, and he immediately found an +extra tin plate and put more coffee in the pot. He was glad to see +White, but he was not going to let White know how glad. He greeted the +young cowboy in an offhand way, taking the attitude of being so +engrossed with cooking that he could not pay great attention to a stray +horseman just then. But later in the evening, after they had eaten, +the two youths chatted and smoked while Montoya listened and gazed out +across the evening mesa. He understood. Pete was tired of the sheep +and would sooner or later take up with the cattle. That was natural +enough. He liked Pete; really felt as a father toward him. And the +old Mexican, who was skilled in working leather, thought of the +hand-carved holster and belt that he had been working on during his +spare time--a present that he had intended giving Pete when it was +completed. There was still a little work to do on the holster; the +flower pattern in the center was not quite finished. To-morrow he +would finish it--for he wanted to have it ready. If Pete stayed with +him, he would have it--and if Pete left he should have something by +which to remember José de la Crux Montoya--something to remember him +by, and something useful--for even then Montoya realized that if Young +Pete survived the present hazards that challenged youth and an +adventurous heart, some day, as a man grown, Pete would thoroughly +appreciate the gift. A good holster, built on the right lines and one +from which a gun came easily, would be very useful to a man of Pete's +inclinations. And when it came to the fit and hang of a holster, +Montoya knew his business. + +Three weeks later, almost to a day, the sheep were grazing below the +town of Concho, near the camp where Pete had first visited Montoya and +elected to work for him. On the higher levels several miles to the +east was the great cattle outfit of the Concho; the home-buildings, +corrals, and stables. Pete had seen some of the Concho boys--chance +visitors at the homestead on the Blue--and he had been thinking of +these as the sheep drifted toward Concho. After all, he was not +equipped to ride, as he had no saddle, bridle, chaps, boots, and not +even a first-class rope. Pete had too much pride to acknowledge his +lack of riding-gear or the wherewithal to purchase it, even should he +tie up with the Concho boys. So when Andy White, again visiting the +sheep-camp, told Pete that the Concho foreman had offered no +encouragement in regard to an extra hand, Pete nodded as though the +matter were of slight consequence, which had the effect of stirring +Andy to renewed eloquence anent the subject--as Pete had hoped. The +boys discussed ways and means. There was much discussion, but no +visible ways and means. Andy's entire wealth was invested in his own +gay trappings. Pete possessed something like seventeen dollars. But +there is nothing impossible to youth--for when youth realizes the +impossible, youth has grown a beard and fears the fire. + +Both boys knew that there were many poor Mexicans in the town of Concho +who, when under the expansive influence of wine, would part with almost +anything they or their neighbors possessed, for a consideration. There +were Mexicans who would sell horse, saddle, and bridle for that amount, +especially when thirsty--for seventeen dollars meant unlimited vino and +a swaggering good time--for a time. Pete knew this only too well. He +suggested the idea to Andy, who concurred with enthusiasm. + +"Cholas is no good anyhow," blurted Andy. "You ain't robbin' nobody +when you buy a Chola outfit. Let's go!" + +Montoya, who sat by the fire, coughed. + +"'Course, I was meanin' some Cholas," said Andy. + +The old herder smiled to himself. The boys amused him. He had been +young once--and very poor. And he had ridden range in his youthful +days. A mild fatalist, he knew that Pete would not stay long, and +Montoya was big enough not to begrudge the muchacho any happiness. + +"I'm goin' over to town for a spell," explained Pete. + +Montoya nodded. + +"I'm comin' back," Pete added, a bit embarrassed. + +"Bueno. I shall be here." + +Pete, a bit flustered, did not quite catch the mild sarcasm, but he +breathed more freely when they were out of sight of camp. "He's sure a +white Mexican," he told Andy. "I kind o' hate to leave him, at that." + +"You ain't left him yet," suggested Andy with the blunt candor of youth. + +Pete pondered. Tucked under his arm were the two bobcat skins and the +coyote-hide. He would try to sell them to the storekeeper, Roth. All +told, he would then have about twenty dollars. That was quite a lot of +money--in Concho. + +Roth was closing shop when they entered town. He greeted Pete +heartily, remarked at his growth and invited him in. Pete introduced +Andy, quite unnecessarily, for Andy knew the storekeeper. Pete gazed +at the familiar shelves, boxes and barrels, the new saddles and rigs, +and in fact at everything in the store save the showcase which +contained the cheap watches, trinkets, and six-shooters. + +"I got a couple o' skins here," he said presently. "Mebby you could +buy 'em." + +"Let's see 'em, Pete." + +Pete unfolded the stiff skins on the counter. + +"Why, I'll give you two dollars for the lot. The cat-skins are all +right. The coyote ain't worth much." + +"All right. I--I'm needin' the money right now," stammered Pete--"or +I'd give 'em to you." + +"How you making it?" queried Roth. + +"Fine! But I was thinkin' o' makin' a change. Sheep is all right--but +I'm sick o' the smell of 'em. Montoya is all right, too. It ain't +that." + +Roth gazed at the boy, wondering if he would say anything about the +six-gun. He liked Pete and yet he felt a little disappointed that Pete +should have taken him altogether for granted. + +"Montoya was in--yesterday," said Roth. + +"Uh-huh? Said he was comin' over here. He's back in camp. Me and +Andy was lookin' for a Chola that wants to sell a hoss." + +"Mighty poor lot of cayuses round here, Pete. What you want with a +horse?" + +"'T ain't the hoss. It's the saddle an' bridle I'm after. If I were +to offer to buy a saddle an' bridle I'd git stuck jest as much for 'em +as I would if I was to buy the whole works. Might jest as well have +the hoss. I could trade him for a pair of chaps, mebby." + +"Goin' to quit the sheep business?" + +"Mebby--if I can git a job ridin'." + +"Well, good luck. I got to close up. Come over and see me before you +break camp." + +"I sure will! Thank you for the--for buyin' them hides." + +Pete felt relieved--and yet not satisfied. He had wanted to speak +about the six-shooter he had taken--but Andy was there, and, besides, +it was a hard subject to approach gracefully even under the most +favorable auspices. Perhaps, in the morning . . . + +"Come on over to Tony's Place and mebby we can run into a Mex that +wants to sell out," suggested Andy. + +Pete said good-night to Roth. + +"Don't you boys get into trouble," laughed Roth, as they left. He had +not even hinted about the six-shooter. Pete thought that the +storekeeper was "sure white." + +The inevitable gaunt, ribby, dejected pony stood at the hitching-rail +of the saloon. Pete knew it at once for a Mexican's pony. No white +man would ride such a horse. The boys inspected the saddle, which was +not worth much, but they thought it would do. "We could steal 'im," +suggested Andy, laughing. "Then we could swipe the rig and turn the +cayuse loose." + +For a moment this idea appealed to Pete. He had a supreme contempt for +Mexicans. But suddenly he seemed to see himself surreptitiously taking +the six-shooter from Roth's showcase--and he recalled vividly how he +had felt at the time--"jest plumb mean," as he put it. Roth had been +mighty decent to him. . . . The Mexican, a wizened little man, +cross-eyed and wrinkled, stumbled from the saloon. + +"Want to sell your hoss?" Pete asked in Mexican. + +"Si! How much you give?" said the other, coming right to the point. + +"Ten dollars." + +"He is a good horse--very fast. He is worth much more. I sell him for +twenty dollars." + +"Si." + +Andy White put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Say, Pete," he whispered, +"I know this hombre. The poor cuss ain't hardly got enough sense to +die. He comes into town reg'lar and gits drunk and he's got a whole +corral full of kids and a wife, over to the Flats. I'm game, but it's +kinda tough, takin' his hoss. It's about all he's got, exceptin' a +measly ole dog and a shack and the clothes on his back. That saddle +ain't worth much, anyhow." + +Pete thought it over. "It's his funeral," he said presently. + +"That's all right--but dam' if I want to bury him." And Andy, the +sprightly, rolled a cigarette and eyed Pete, who stood pondering. + +Presently Pete turned to the Mexican. "I was only joshin' you, amigo. +You fork your cayuse and fan it for home." + +Pete felt that his chance of buying cheap equipment had gone +glimmering, but he was not unhappy. He gestured to Andy. Together +they strode across to the store and sat on the rough wood platform. +Pete kicked his heels and whistled a range tune. Andy smoked and +wondered what Pete had in mind. Suddenly Pete rose and pulled up his +belt. "Come on over to Roth's house," he said. "I want to see him." + +"He's turned in," suggested Andy. + +"That's all right. I got to see him." + +"I'm on! You're goin' to pay somethin' down on a rig, and git him to +let you take it on time. Great idee! Go to it!" + +"You got me wrong," said Pete. + +Roth had gone to bed, but he rose and answered the door when he heard +Pete's voice. "Kin I see you alone?" queried Pete. + +"I reckon so. Come right in." + +Pete blinked in the glare of the lamp, shuffled his feet as he slowly +counted out eighteen dollars and a half. "It's for the gun I took," he +explained. + +Roth hesitated, then took the money. + +"All right, Pete. I'll give you a receipt. Just wait a minute." + +Pete gazed curiously at the crumpled bit of paper that Roth fetched +from the bedroom. "I took a gun an' cartriges for Wagges. You never +giv me Wages." + +Pete heaved a sigh. "I reckon we're square." + +Roth grinned. "Knowed you'd come back some day. Reckon you didn't +find a Mexican with a horse to sell, eh?" + +"Yep. But I changed my mind." + +"What made you change your mind?" + +"I dunno." + +"Well, I reckon I do. Now, see here, Pete. You been up against it +'most all your life. You ain't so bad off with old Montoya, but I sabe +how you feel about herding sheep. You want to get to riding. But +first you want to get a job. Now you go over to the Concho and tell +Bailey--'he's the foreman--that I sent you, and that if he'll give you +a job, I'll outfit you. You can take your time paying for it." + +Pete blinked and choked a little. "I ain't askin' nobody to _give_ me +nothin'," he said brusquely. + +"Yes, you be. You're asking Bailey for a job. It's all right to ask +for something you mean to pay for, and you'll pay for your job by +workin'. That there rig you can pay for out of your wages. I was +always intending to do something for you--only you didn't stay. I +reckon I'm kind o' slow. 'Most everybody is in Concho. And seeing as +you come back and paid up like a man--I'm going to charge that gun up +against wages you earned when you was working for me, and credit you +with the eighteen-fifty on the new rig. Now you fan it back to Montoya +and tell him what you aim to do and then if you got time, come over +to-morrow and pick out your rig. You don't have to take it till you +get your job." + +Pete twisted his hat in his hands. He did not know what to say. +Slowly he backed from the room, turned, and strode out to Andy White. +Andy wondered what Pete had been up to, but waited for him to speak. + +Presently Pete cleared his throat. "I'm coming over to your wickiup +to-morrow and strike for a job. I got the promise of a rig, all right. +Don't want no second-hand rig, anyhow! I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder +River and I'm comin' with head up and tail a-rollin'." + +"Whoopee!" sang Andy, and swung to his pony. + +"I'm a-comin'!" called Pete as Andy clattered away into the night. + +Pete felt happy and yet strangely subdued. The dim road flickered +before him as he trudged back to the sheep-camp. "Pop would 'a' done +it that way," he said aloud. And for a space, down the darkening road +he walked in that realm where the invisible walk, and beside him +trudged the great, rugged shape of Annersley, the spirit of the old man +who always "played square," feared no man, and fulfilled a purpose in +the immeasurable scheme of things. Pete knew that Annersley would have +been pleased. So it was that Young Pete paid the most honorable debt +of all, the debt to memory that the debtor's own free hand may pay or +not--and none be the wiser, save the debtor. Pete had "played square." +It was all the more to his credit that he hated like the dickens to +give up his eighteen dollars and a half, and yet had done so. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SOME BOOKKEEPING + +While it is possible to approach the foreman of a cattle outfit on foot +and apply for work, it is--as a certain Ulysses of the outlands once +said--not considered good form in the best families in Arizona. Pete +was only too keenly conscious of this. There is a prestige recognized +by both employer and tentative employee in riding in, swinging to the +ground in that deliberate and easy fashion of the Western rider, and +sauntering up as though on a friendly visit wherein the weather and +grazing furnish themes for introduction, discussion, and the eventual +wedge that may open up the way to employment. The foreman knows by the +way you sit your horse, dismount, and generally handle yourself, just +where you stand in the scale of ability. He does not need to be told. +Nor does he care what you have been. Your saddle-tree is much more +significant than your family tree. Still, if you have graduated in +some Far Eastern riding academy, and are, perchance, ambitious to learn +the gentle art of roping, riding them as they come, and incidentally +preserving your anatomy as an undislocated whole, it is not a bad idea +to approach the foreman on foot and clothed in unpretentious garb. +For, as this same Ulysses of the outlands said: + + "Rub grease on your chaps and look wise if you will, + But the odor of tan-bark will cling round you still." + +This information alone is worth considerably more than twenty cents. + +Young Pete, who had not slept much, arose and prepared breakfast, +making the coffee extra strong. Montoya liked strong coffee. After +breakfast Pete made a diagonal approach to the subject of leaving. +Could he go to Concho? Montoya nodded. Would it be all right if he +made a visit to the Concho outfit over on the mesa? It would be all +right. This was too easy. Pete squirmed internally. If Montoya would +only ask why he wanted to go. Did Montoya think he could get another +boy to help with the sheep? The old herder, who had a quiet sense of +humor, said he didn't need another boy: that Pete did very well. Young +Pete felt, as he expressed it to himself, "jest plumb mean." +Metaphorically he had thrown his rope three times and missed each time. +This time he made a wider loop. + +"What I'm gittin' at is, Roth over to Concho said last night if I was +to go over to Bailey--he's the fo'man of the Concho outfit--and ask him +for a job, I could mebby land one. Roth, he said he'd outfit me and +leave me to pay for it from my wages. Andy White, he's pluggin' for me +over to the ranch. I ain't said nothin' to you, for I wa'n't sure--but +Roth he says mebby I could git a job. I reckon I'm gettin' kind of +_old_ to herd sheep." + +Montoya smiled. "Si; I am sixty years old." + +"I know--but--doggone it! I want to ride a hoss and go somewhere!" + +"I will pay you three dollars a week," said Montoya, and his eyes +twinkled. He was enjoying Pete's embarrassment. + +"It ain't the money. You sure been square. It ain't that. I reckon I +jest got to go." + +"Then it is that you go. I will find another to help. You have been a +good boy. You do not like the sheep--but the horses. I know that you +have been saving the money. You have not bought cartridges. I would +give you--" + +"Hold on--you give me my money day before yesterday." + +"Then you have a little till you get your wages from the Concho. It is +good." + +"Oh, I'm broke all right," said Pete. "But that don't bother me none. +I paid Roth for that gun I swiped--" + +"You steal the gun?" + +"Well, it wa'n't jest _stealin'_ it. Roth he never paid me no wages, +so when I lit out I took her along and writ him it was for wages." + +"Then why did you pay him?" + +Pete frowned. "I dunno." + +Montoya nodded. He stooped and fumbled in a pack. Pete wondered what +the old man was hunting for. + +Presently, Montoya drew out the hand-carved belt and holster, held it +up, and inspected it critically. He felt of it with his calloused +hands, and finally gestured to Pete. "It is for you, muchacho. I made +it. Stand so. There, it should hang this way." Montoya buckled the +belt around Pete and stepped back. "A little to the front. Bueno! +Tie the thong round your leg--so. That is well! It is the present +from José Montoya. Sometimes you will remember--" + +Montoya glanced at Pete's face. Pete was frowning prodigiously. + +"Hah!" laughed Montoya. "You do not like it, eh?" + +Pete scowled and blinked. "It's the best doggone holster in the world! +I--I'm goin' to keep that there holster as long as I live! I--" + +Montoya patted Pete's shoulder. "With the sheep it is quiet, so!"--and +Montoya gestured to the band that grazed near by. "Where you will go +there will be the hard riding and the fighting, perhaps. It is not +good to kill a man. But it is not good to be killed. The hot +word--the quarrel--and some day a man will try to kill you. See! I +have left the holster open at the end. I have taught you that +trick--but do not tie the holster down if you would shoot that way. +There is no more to say." + +Pete thought so, so far as he was concerned. He was angry with himself +for having felt emotion and yet happy in that his break with Montoya +had terminated so pleasantly withal. "I'm goin' to town," he said, +"and git a boy to come out here. If I can't git a boy, I'll come back +and stay till you git one." + +Montoya nodded and strode out to where the sheep had drifted. The dogs +jumped up and welcomed him. It was not customary for their master to +leave them for so long alone with the flock. Their wagging tails and +general attitude expressed relief. + +Pete, topping the rise that hides the town of Concho from the northern +vistas, turned and looked back. Far below, on a slightly rounded knoll +stood the old herder, a solitary figure in the wide expanse of mesa and +morning sunlight. Pete swung his hat. Montoya raised his arm in a +gesture of good-will and farewell. Pete might have to come back, but +Montoya doubted it. He knew Pete. If there was anything that looked +like a boy available in Concho, Pete would induce that boy to take his +place with Montoya, if he had to resort to force to do so. + +Youth on the hilltop! Youth pausing to gaze back for a moment on a +pleasant vista of sunshine and long, lazy days--Pete brushed his arm +across his eyes. One of the dogs had left the sheep, and came frisking +toward the hill where Pete stood. Pete had never paid much attention +to the dogs, and was surprised that either of them should note his +going, at this time. "Mebby the doggone cuss knows that I'm quittin' +for good," he thought. The dog circled Pete and barked ingratiatingly. +Pete, touched by unexpected interest, squatted down and called the dog +to him. The sharp-muzzled, keen-eyed animal trotted up and nosed +Pete's hand. "You 're sure wise!" said Pete affectionately. Pete was +even more astonished to realize that it was the dog he had roped +recently. "Knowed I was only foolin'," said Pete, patting the dog's +head. The sheep-dog gazed up into Pete's face with bright, unblinking +eyes that questioned, "Why was Pete leaving camp early in the +morning--and without the burros?" + +"I'm quittin' for good," said Pete. + +The dog's waving tail grew still. + +"That's right--honest!"--and Pete rose. + +The sheep-dog's quivering joy ceased at the word. His alertness +vanished. A veritable statue of dejection he stood as though pondering +the situation. Then he lifted his head and howled--the long, +lugubrious howl of the wolf that hungers. + +"You said it all," muttered Pete, turning swiftly and trudging down the +road. He would have liked to howl himself. Montoya's kindliness at +parting--and his gift--had touched Pete deeply, but he had fought his +emotion then, too proud to show it. Now he felt a hot something +spatter on his hand. His mouth quivered. "Doggone the dog!" he +exclaimed. "Doggone the whole doggone outfit!" And to cheat his +emotion he began to sing, in a ludicrous, choked way, that sprightly +and inimitable range ballad; + + "'Way high up in the Mokiones, among the mountain-tops, + A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones and licked his thankful chops, + When who upon the scene should ride, a-trippin' down the slope," + +"Doggone the slope!" blurted Pete as he stubbed his toe on a rock. + +But when he reached Concho his eyes had cleared. Like all good +Americans he "turned a keen, untroubled face home to the instant need +of things," and after visiting Roth at the store, and though sorely +tempted to loiter and inspect saddlery, he set out to hunt up a +boy--for Montoya. + +None of the Mexican boys he approached cared to leave home. Things +looked pretty blue for Pete. The finding of the right boy meant his +own freedom. His contempt for the youth of Concho grew apace. The +Mexicans were a lazy lot, who either did not want to work or were loath +to leave home and follow the sheep. "Jest kids!" he remarked +contemptuously as his fifth attempt failed. "I could lick the whole +bunch!" + +Finally he located a half-grown youth who said he was willing to go. +Pete told him where to find Montoya and exacted a promise from the +youth to go at once and apply for the place. Pete hastened to the +store and immediately forgot time, place, and even the fact that he had +yet to get a job riding for the Concho outfit, in the eager joy of +choosing a saddle, bridle, blanket, spurs, boots and chaps, to say +nothing of a new Stetson and rope. The sum total of these unpaid-for +purchases rather staggered him. His eighteen-odd dollars was as a +fly-speck on the credit side of the ledger. He had chosen the best of +everything that Roth had in stock. A little figuring convinced him +that he would have to work several months before his outfit was paid +for. "If I git a job I'll give you an order for my wages," he told +Roth. + +"That's all right, Pete; I ain't worryin'." + +"Well--I be, some," said Pete. "Lemme see--fifty for the saddle, seven +for the bridle---and she's some bridle!--and eighteen for the +chaps--fifteen for the boots--that's ninety dollars. Gee whizz! Then +there's four for that blanket and ten for them spurs. That's a hundred +and four. 'Course I _could_ git along without a new lid. Rope is +three-fifty, and lid is ten. One hundred and seventeen dollars for +four bits. Guess I'll make it a hundred and twenty. No use botherin' +about small change. Gimme that pair of gloves." + +Roth had no hesitation in outfitting Pete. The Concho cattlemen traded +at his store. He had extended credit to many a rider whom he trusted +less than he did Pete. Moreover, he was fond of the boy and wanted to +see him placed where he could better himself. "I've got you on the +books for a hundred and twenty," he told Pete, and Pete felt very proud +and important. "Now, if I could borrow a hoss for a spell, I'd jest +fork him and ride over to see Bailey," he asserted. "I sure can't pack +this outfit over there." + +Roth grinned. "Well, we might as well let the tail go with the hide. +There's old Rowdy. He ain't much of a horse, but he's got three good +legs yet. He starched a little forward, but he'll make the trip over +and back. You can take him." + +"Honest?" + +"Go ahead." + +Pete tingled with joyful anticipation as he strode from the store, his +new rope in his hand. He would rope that cayuse and just about burn +the ground for the Concho! Maybe he wouldn't make young Andy White sit +up! The Ridin' Kid from Powder River was walking on air when-- + +"Thought you was goin' over to see Montoya!" he challenged as he saw +the Mexican youth, whom he had tentatively hired, sitting placidly on +the store veranda, employed solely in gazing at the road as though it +were a most interesting spectacle. "Oh, mañana," drawled the Mexican. + +"Mañana, nothin'!" volleyed Pete. "You're goin' now! Git a-movin'--if +you have to take your hands and lift your doggone feet off the ground. +Git a-goin'!" + +"Oh, maybe I go mañana." + +"You're dreamin', hombre." Pete was desperate. Again he saw his +chance of an immediate job go glimmering down the vague vistas of many +to-morrows. + +"See here! What kind of a guy are you, anyhow? I come in here +yesterday and offered you a job and you promised you'd git to work +right away. You--" + +"It was _to-day_ you speak of Montoya," corrected the Mexican. + +"You're dreamin'," reiterated Pete. "It was _yesterday_ you said you +would go mañana. Well, it's to-morrow, ain't it? You been asleep an' +don't know it." + +An expression of childish wonder crossed the Mexican youth's stolid +face. Of a certainty it was but this very morning that Montoya's boy +had spoken to him! Or was it yesterday morning? Montoya's boy had +said it was yesterday morning. It must be so. The youth rose and +gazed about him. Pete stood aggressively potent, frowning down on the +other's hesitation. + +"I go," said the Mexican. + +Pete heaved a sigh of relief. "A fella's got to know how to handle +'em," he told the immediate vicinity. And because Pete knew something +about "handlin' 'em," he did not at once go for the horse, but stood +staring after the Mexican, who had paused to glance back. Pete waved +his hand in a gesture which meant, "Keep goin'." The Mexican youth +kept going. + +"I ain't wishin' old José any hard luck," muttered Pete, "but I said +I'd send a boy--and that there walkin' dream _looks_ like one, anyhow. +'Oh, mañana!'" he snorted. "Mexicans is mostly figurin' out to-day +what they 're goin' to do to-morrow, and they never git through +figurin'. I dunno who my father and mother was, but I know one +thing--they wa'n't Mexicans." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +ROWDY--AND BLUE SMOKE + +It has been said that Necessity is the mother of Invention--well, it +goes without saying that the cowboy is the father, and Pete was closely +related to these progenitors of that most necessary adjunct of success. +Moreover, he could have boasted a coat of arms had he been at all +familiar with heraldry and obliged to declare himself. + +[Illustration: Pete.] + +A pinto cayuse rampant; a longhorn steer regardant; two sad-eyed, +unbranded calves couchant--one in each corner of the shield to kind of +balance her up; gules, several clumps of something representing +sagebrush; and possibly a rattlesnake coiled beneath the sagebrush and +described as "repellent" and holding in his open jaws a streaming motto +reading, "I'm a-comin'." + +Had it been essential that Pete's escutcheon should bear the bar +sinister, doubtless he would have explained its presence with the easy +assertion that the dark diagonal represented the vague ancestry of the +two sad-eyed calves couchant. Anybody could see that the calves were +part longhorn and part Hereford! + +Pete rode out of Concho glittering in his new-found glory of shining +bit and spur, wide-brimmed Stetson, and chaps studded with +nickel-plated conchas. The creak of the stiff saddle-leather was music +to him. His brand-new and really good equipment almost made up for the +horse--an ancient pensioner that never seemed to be just certain when +he would take his next step and seemed a trifle surprised when he had +taken it. He was old, amiable, and willing, internally, but his legs, +somewhat of the Chippendale order, had seen better days. Ease and good +feeding had failed to fill him out. He was past taking on flesh. Roth +kept him about the place for short trips. Roth's lively team of pintos +were at the time grazing in a distant summer pasture. + +Rowdy--the horse--seemed to feel that the occasion demanded something +of him. He pricked his ears as they crossed the cañon bottom and +breasted the ascent as bravely as his three good legs would let him. +At the top he puffed hard. Despite Pete's urging, he stood stolidly +until he had gathered enough ozone to propel him farther. "Git along, +you doggone ole cockroach!" said Pete. But Rowdy was firm. He turned +his head and gazed sadly at his rider with one mournful eye that said +plainly, "I'm doing my level best." Pete realized that the ground just +traveled was anything but level, and curbed his impatience. "I'll jest +kind o' save him for the finish," he told himself. "Then I'll hook the +spurs into him and ride in a-boilin'. Don't care what he does after +that. He can set down and rest if he wants to. Git along, old +soap-foot," he cried--"soap-foot" possibly because Rowdy occasionally +slipped. His antique legs didn't always do just what he wanted them to +do. + +Topping the mesa edge, Pete saw the distant green that fringed the +Concho home-ranch, topped by a curl of smoke that drifted lazily across +the gold of the morning. Without urging, Rowdy broke into a stiff +trot, that sounded Pete's inmost depths, despite his natural good seat +in the saddle. "Quit it!" cried Pete presently. "You'll be goin' on +crutches afore night if you keep that up.--And so'll I," he added. +Rowdy immediately stopped and turned his mournful eye on Pete. + +If the trot had been the rhythmic _one, two, three, four_, Pete could +have ridden and rolled cigarettes without spilling a flake of tobacco; +but the trot was a sort of _one, two--almost three_, then, whump! +_three_ and a quick _four_, and so on, a decidedly irregular meter in +Pete's lyrical journey toward new fields and fairer fortune. "I'll +sure make Andy sit up!" he declared as the Concho buildings loomed +beneath the cool, dark-green outline of the trees. He dismounted to +open and close a gate. A half-mile farther he again dismounted to open +and close another gate. From there on was a straightaway road to the +ranch-buildings. Pete gathered himself together, pushed his hat down +firmly--it was new and stiff--and put Rowdy to a high lope. This was +something like it! Possibly Rowdy anticipated a good rest, and hay. +In any event, he did his best, rounding into the yard and up to the +house like a true cow-pony. All would have been well, as Pete realized +later, had it not been for the pup. The pup saw in Rowdy a new +playfellow, and charged from the door-step just as that good steed was +mentally preparing to come to a stop. The pup was not mentally +prepared in any way, and in his excitement he overshot the mark. He +caromed into Rowdy's one recalcitrant leg--it usually happens that +way--and Rowdy stepped on him. Pete was also not mentally prepared to +dismount at the moment, but he did so as Rowdy crashed down in a cloud +of dust. The pup, who imagined himself killed, shrieked shrilly and +ran as hard as he could to the distant stables to find out if it were +not so. + +Pete picked up his hat. Rowdy scrambled up and shook himself. Pete +was mad. Over on the edge of the bunk-house veranda sat four or five +of the Concho boys. They rocked back and forth and slapped their legs +and shouted. It was a trying situation. + +The foreman, Bailey, rose as Pete limped up. "We're livin' over here," +said Bailey. "Did you want to see some one?" + +Pete wet his lips. "The fo'man. I--I--jest rid over to see how you +was makin' it." + +"Why, we 're doin' right fair. How you makin' it yourself?" + +"I'm here," said Pete succinctly and without a smile. + +"So we noticed," said the foreman mildly, too mildly, for one of the +punchers began to laugh, and the rest joined in. + +"Wisht I had a hoss like that," said a cowboy. "Always did hate to +climb offen a hoss. I like to have 'em set down and kind o' let me +step off easy-like." + +Pete sorely wanted to make a sharp retort, but he had learned the +wisdom of silence. He knew that he had made himself ridiculous before +these men. It would be hard to live down this thing. He deemed +himself sadly out of luck, but he never lost sight of the main chance +for an instant. + +Bailey, through young Andy White, knew of Pete and was studying him. +The boy had self-possession, and he had not cursed the horse for +stumbling. He saw that Pete was making a fight to keep his temper. + +"You lookin' for work?" he said kindly. + +"I was headed that way," replied Pete. + +"Can you rope?" + +"Oh, some. I kin keep from tanglin' my feet in a rope when it's +hangin' on the horn and I'm standin' off a piece." + +"Well, things are slack right now. Don't know as I could use you. +What's your name, anyhow?" + +"I'm Pete Annersley. I reckon you know who my pop was." + +Bailey nodded. "The T-Bar-T," he said, turning toward the men. They +shook their heads and were silent, gazing curiously at the boy, of whom +it was said that he had "bumped off" two T-Bar-T boys in a raid some +years ago. Young Pete felt his ground firmer beneath him. The men had +ceased laughing. If it had not been for that unfortunate stumble . . . + +"You're sportin' a right good rig," said the foreman. + +"I aim to," said Pete quickly. "If I hadn't gone broke buyin' it, I'd +ride up here on a real hoss." + +"Things are pretty slack right now," said Bailey. "Glad to see +you--but they won't be nothin' doin' till fall. Won't you set down? +We're goin' to eat right soon." + +"Thanks. I ain't a-missin' a chanct to eat. And I reckon ole Rowdy +there could do somethin' in that line hisself." + +Bailey smiled. "Turn your horse into the corral. Better pack your +saddle over here. That pup will chew them new latigos if he gets near +it." + +"That doggone pup come mighty nigh bustin' me,"--and Pete smiled for +the first time since arriving. "But the pup was havin' a good time, +anyhow." + +"Say, I want to shake with you!" said a big puncher, rising and +sticking out a strong, hairy hand. + +Pete's face expressed surprise. "Why--sure!" he stammered, not +realizing that his smiling reference to the pup had won him a friend. + +"He's sure a hard-boiled kid," said one of the men as Pete unsaddled +and led Rowdy to the corral. "Did you catch his eye? Black--and +shinin'; plumb full of deviltry--down in deep. That kid's had to hit +some hard spots afore he growed to where he is." + +"And he can take his medicine," asserted another cowboy. "He was mad +enough to kill that hoss and the bunch of us--but he held her down and +bellied up to us like a real one. Looks like he had kind of a Injun +streak in him." + +Bailey nodded. "Wish I had a job for the kid. He would make good. +He's been driftin' round the country with old man Montoya for a couple +of years. Old man Annersley picked him up down to Concho. The kid was +with a horse-trader. He would have been all right with Annersley, but +you boys know what happened. This ain't no orphan asylum, but--well, +anyhow--did you size up the rig he's sportin'?" + +"Some rig." + +"And he says he went broke to buy her." + +"Some kid." + +"Goin' to string him along?" queried another cowboy. + +"Nope," replied Bailey. "The pup strung him plenty. Mebby we'll give +him a whirl at a real horse after dinner. He's itchin' to climb a real +one and show us, and likewise to break in that new rig." + +"Or git busted," suggested one of the men. + +"By his eye, I'd say he'll stick," said Bailey. "Don't you boys go to +raggin' him too strong about ridin', for I ain't aimin' to kill the +kid. If he can stick on Blue Smoke, I've a good mind to give him a +job. I told Andy to tell him there wa'n't no chanct up here--but the +kid comes to look-see for hisself. I kind o' like that." + +"You 're gettin' soft in your haid, Bud," said a cowboy affectionately. + +"Mebby, but I don't have to put cotton in my ears to keep my brains +in," Bailey retorted mildly. + +The cowboy who had spoken was suffering from earache and had an ear +plugged with cotton. + +Pete swaggered up and sat down. "Who's ridin' that blue out there?" he +queried, gesturing toward the corral. + +"He's a pet," said Bailey. Nobody rides him." + +"Uh-huh. Well, I reckon the man who tries 'll be one of ole Abraham's +pets right off soon after," commented Pete. "He don't look good to me." + +"You sabe 'em?" queried Bailey and winked at a companion. + +"Nope," replied Pete. "I can't tell a hoss from a hitchin'-rail, 'less +he kicks me." + +"Well, Blue Smoke ain't a hitchin'-rail," asserted Bailey. "What do +you say if we go over and tell the missis we're starvin' to death?" + +"Send Pete over," suggested a cowboy. + +Bailey liked a joke. As he had said, things were dull, just then. +"Lope over and tell my missis we're settin' out here starvin' to +death," he suggested to Pete. + +Pete strode to the house and entered, hat in hand. The foreman's wife, +a plump, cheery woman, liked nothing better than to joke with the men. +Presently Pete came out bearing the half of a large, thick, juicy pie +in his hands. He marched to the bunkhouse and sat down near the +men--but not too near. He ate pie and said nothing. When he had +finished the pie, he rolled a cigarette and smoked, in huge content. +The cowboys glanced at one another and grinned. + +"Well," said Bailey presently; "what's the answer?" + +Pete grinned. "Misses Bailey says to tell you fellas to keep on +starvin' to death. It'll save cookin'." + +"I move that we get one square before we cross over," said Bailey, +rising. "Come on, boys. I can smell twelve o'clock comin' from the +kitchen." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"TURN HIM LOOSE!" + +Blue Smoke was one of those unfortunate animals known as an outlaw. He +was a blue roan with a black stripe down his back, a tough, strong +pony, with a white-rimmed eye as uncompromising as the muzzle of a +cocked gun. He was of no special use as a cow-pony and was kept about +the ranch merely because he happened to belong to the Concho caviayard. +It took a wise horse and two good men to get a saddle on him when some +aspiring newcomer intimated that he could ride anything with hair on +it. He was the inevitable test of the new man. No one as yet had +ridden him to a finish; nor was it expected. The man who could stand a +brief ten seconds' punishment astride of the outlaw was considered a +pretty fair rider. It was customary to time the performance, as one +would time a race, but in the instance of riding Blue Smoke the man was +timed rather than the horse. So far, Bailey himself held the record. +He had stayed with the outlaw fifteen seconds. + +Pete learned this, and much more, about Blue Smoke's disposition while +the men ate and joked with Mrs. Bailey. And Mrs. Bailey, good woman, +was no less eloquent than the men in describing the outlaw's unenviable +temperament, never dreaming that the men would allow a boy of Pete's +years to ride the horse. Pete, a bit embarrassed in this lively +company, attended heartily to his plate. He gathered, indirectly, that +he was expected to demonstrate his ability as a rider, sooner or later. +He hoped that it would be later. + +After dinner the men loafed out and gravitated lazily toward the +corral, where they stood eying the horses and commenting on this and +that pony. Pete had eyes for no horse but Blue Smoke. He admitted to +himself that he did not want to ride that horse. He knew that his rise +would be sudden and that his fall would be great. Still, he sported +the habiliments of a full-fledged buckaroo, and he would have to live +up to them. A man who could not sit the hurricane-deck of a pitching +horse was of little use to the ranch. In the busy season each man +caught up his string of ponies and rode them as he needed them. There +was neither time nor disposition to choose. + +Pete wished that Blue Smoke had a little more of Rowdy's equable +disposition. It was typical of Pete, however, that he absolutely hated +to leave an unpleasant task to an indefinite future. Moreover, he +rather liked the Concho boys and the foreman. He wanted to ride with +them. That was the main thing. Any hesitancy he had in regard to +riding the outlaw was the outcome of discretion rather than of fear. +Bailey had said there was no work for him. Pete felt that he had +rather risk his neck a dozen times than to return to the town of Concho +and tell Roth that he had been unsuccessful in getting work. Yet Pete +did not forget his shrewdness. He would bargain with the foreman. + +"How long kin a fella stick on that there Blue Smoke hoss?" he queried +presently. + +"Depends on the man," said Bailey, grinning. + +"Bailey here stayed with him fifteen seconds onct," said a cowboy. + +Pete pushed hack his hat. "Well, I ain't no bronco-twister, but I +reckon I could ride him a couple o' jumps. Who's keepin' time on the +dog-gone cayuse?" + +"Anybody that's got a watch," replied Bailey. + +Pete hitched up his chaps. "I got a watch and I'd hate to bust her. +If you'll hold her till I git through"--and he handed the watch to the +nearest cowboy. "If you'll throw my saddle on 'im, I reckon I'll walk +him round a little and see what kind of action he's got." + +"Shucks!" exclaimed Bailey; "that hoss would jest nacherally pitch you +so high you wouldn't git back in time for the fall round-up, kid. He's +bad." + +"Well, you said they wa'n't no job till fall, anyhow," said Pete. +"Mebby I'd git back in time for a job." + +Bailey shook his head. "I was joshin'--this mornin'." + +"'Bout my ridin' that hoss? Well, I ain't. I'm kind of a stranger up +here, and I reckon you fellas think, because that doggone ole soap-foot +fell down with me, that I can't ride 'em." + +"Oh, mebby some of 'em," laughed Bailey. + +Pete's black eyes flashed. To him the matter was anything but a joke. +"You give me a job if I stick on that hoss for fifteen seconds? Why, +I'm game to crawl him and see who wins out. If I git pitched, I lose. +And I'm taking all the chances." + +"Throw a saddle on him and give the kid a chanct," suggested a cowboy. + +Bailey turned and looked at Pete, whose eyes were alight with the hope +of winning out--not for the sake of any brief glory, Pete's compressed +lips denied that, but for the sake of demonstrating his ability to hold +down a job on the ranch. + +"Rope him, Monte," said Bailey. "Take the sorrel. I'll throw the +kid's saddle on him." + +"Do I git the job if I stick?" queried Pete nervously. + +"Mebby," said Bailey. + +Now Pete's watch was a long-suffering dollar watch that went when it +wanted to and ceased to go when it felt like resting. At present the +watch was on furlough and had been for several days. A good shake +would start it going--and once started it seemed anxious to make up for +lost time by racing at a delirious pace that ignored the sun, the +stars, and all that makes the deliberate progress of the hours. If +Pete could arrange it so that his riding could be timed by his own +watch, he thought he could win, with something to spare. After a wild +battle with the punchers, Blue Smoke was saddled with Pete's saddle. +He still fought the men. There was no time for discussion if Pete +intended to ride. + +"Go to 'im!" cried Bailey. + +Pete hitched up his chaps and crawled over the bars. "Jest time him +for me," said Pete, turning to the cowboy who held his watch. + +The cowboy glanced at the watch, put it to his ear, then glanced at it +again. "The durn thing's stopped!" he asserted. + +"Shake her," said Pete. + +Pete slipped into the saddle. "Turn 'im loose!" he cried. + +The men jumped back. Blue Smoke lunged and went at it. Pete gritted +his teeth and hung to the rope. The corral revolved and the buildings +teetered drunkenly. Blue Smoke was not a running bucker, but did his +pitching in a small area--and viciously. Pete's head snapped back and +forth. He lost all sense of time, direction, and place. He was jolted +and jarred by a grunting cyclone that flung him up and sideways, met +him coming down and racked every muscle in his body. Pete dully hoped +that it would soon be over. He was bleeding at the nose. His neck +felt as though it had been broken. He wanted to let go and fall. +Anything was better than this terrible punishment. + +He heard shouting, and then a woman's shrill voice. Blue Smoke gave a +quick pitch and twist. Pete felt something crash up against him. +Suddenly it was night. All motion had ceased. + +When he came to, Mrs. Bailey was kneeling beside him and ringed around +were the curious faces of the cowboys. + +"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River," muttered Pete. "Did I make it?" + +"That horse liked to killed you," said Mrs. Bailey. "If I'd 'a' knew +the boys was up to this . . . and him just a boy! Jim Bailey, you +ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Ma Bailey wiped Pete's face with her +apron and put her motherly arm beneath his head. "If he was my boy, +Jim Bailey, I'd--I'd--show you!" + +Pete raised on his elbow. "I'm all right, mam. It wa'n't his fault. +I said I could ride that hoss. Did I make it?" + +"Accordin' to your watch here," said the puncher who held Pete's +irresponsible timepiece, "you rid him for four hours and sixteen +minutes. The hands was a-fannin' it round like a windmill in a +cyclone. But she's quit, now." + +"Do I git the job?" queried Pete. + +"You get right to bed! It's a wonder every bone in your body ain't +broke!" exclaimed Ma Bailey. + +"Bed!" snorted Pete. He rose stiffly. His hat was gone and one spur +was missing. His legs felt heavy. His neck ached; but his black eyes +were bright and blinking. + +"Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Bailey. "Why, the boy is comin' to all +right!" + +"You bet!" said Pete, grinning, although he felt far from all right. +He realized that he rather owed Mrs. Bailey something in the way of an +expression of gratitude for her interest. "I--you, you sure can make +the best pie ever turned loose!" he asserted. + +"Pie!" gasped the foreman's wife, "and him almost killed by that blue +devil there! You come right in the house, wash your face, and I'll fix +you up." + +"The kid's all right, mother," said Bailey placatingly. + +Mrs. Bailey turned on her husband. "That's not your fault, Jim Bailey. +Such goin's-on! You great, lazy hulk, you, to go set a boy to ridin' +that hoss that you dassent ride yourself. If he was my boy--" + +"Well, I'm willin'," said Pete, who began to realize the power behind +the throne. + +"Bless his heart!" Mrs. Bailey put her arm about his shoulders. Pete +was mightily embarrassed. No woman had ever caressed him, so far as he +could remember. The men would sure think him a softy, to allow all +this strange mothering; but he could not help himself. Evidently the +foreman's wife was a power in the land, for the men had taken her +berating silently and respectfully. But before they reached the house +Pete was only too glad to feel Mrs. Bailey's arm round his shoulders, +for the ground seemed unnecessarily uneven, and the trees had a strange +way of rocking back and forth, although there was no wind. + +Mrs. Bailey insisted that he lie down, and she spread a blanket on her +own white bed. Pete did not want to lie down. But Mrs. Bailey +insisted, helping him to unbuckle his chaps and even to pull off his +boots. The bed felt soft and comfortable to his aching body. The room +was darkened. Mrs. Bailey tiptoed through the doorway. Pete gazed +drowsily at a flaming lithograph on the wall; a basket of fruit such as +was never known on land or sea, placed on a highly polished table such +as was never made by human hands. The colors of the chromo grew dimmer +and dimmer. Pete sighed and fell asleep. + +Mrs. Bailey, like most folk in that locality, knew something of Pete's +earlier life. Rumor had it that Pete was a bad one--a tough kid--that +he had even killed two cowboys of the T-Bar-T. Mrs. Bailey had never +seen Pete until that morning. Yet she immediately formed her own +opinion of him, intuition guiding her aright. Young Pete was simply +unfortunate--not vicious. She could see that at a glance. And he was +a manly youngster with a quick, direct eye. He had come to the Concho +looking for work. The men had played their usual pranks, fortunately +with no serious consequences. But Bailey should have known better, and +she told him so that afternoon in the kitchen, while Pete slumbered +blissfully in the next room. "And he can help around the place, even +if it is slack times," she concluded. + +That evening was one of the happiest evenings of Pete's life. He had +never known the tender solicitude of a woman. Mrs. Bailey treated him +as a sort of semi-invalid, waiting on him, silencing the men's +good-natured joshing with her sharp tongue, feeding him canned +peaches--a rare treat--and finally enthroning him in her own ample +rocking-chair, somewhat to Pete's embarrassment, and much to the +amusement of the men. + +"He sure can ride it!" said a cowboy, indicating the rocking-chair. + +"Bill Haskins, you need a shave!" said Mrs. Bailey. + +The aforesaid Bill Haskins, unable to see any connection between his +remark and the condition of his beard, stared from one to another of +his blank-faced companions, grew red, stammered, and felt of his chin. + +"I reckon I do," he said weakly, and rising he plodded to the +bunk-house. + +"And if you want to smoke," said Mrs. Bailey, indicating another of the +boys who had just rolled and lighted a cigarette, "there's all outdoors +to do it in." + +This puncher also grew red, rose, and sauntered out. + +Bailey and the two remaining cowboys shuffled their feet, wondering who +would be the next to suffer the slings and arrows of Ma Bailey's +indignation. _They_ considered the Blue Smoke episode closed. +Evidently Ma Bailey did not. Bailey himself wisely suggested that they +go over to the bunk-house. It would be cooler there. The cowboys rose +promptly and departed. But they were cowboys and not to be silenced so +easily. + +They loved Ma Bailey and they dearly loved to tease her. Strong, +rugged, and used to activity, they could not be quiet long. Mrs. +Bailey hitched a chair close to Pete and had learned much of his early +history--for Pete felt that the least he could do was to answer her +kindly questions--and he, in turn, had been feeling quite at home in +her evident sympathy, when an unearthly yell shattered the quiet of the +summer evening. More yells--and a voice from the darkness stated that +some one was hurt bad; to bring a light. Groans, heartrending and +hoarse, punctuated the succeeding silence. "It's Jim," the voice +asserted. "Guess his leg's bruk." + +The groaning continued. Mrs. Bailey rose and seized the lamp. Pete +got up stiffly and followed her out. One of the men was down on all +fours, jumping about in ludicrous imitation of a bucking horse; and +another was astride him, beating him not too gently with a quirt. As +Ma Bailey came in sight the other cowboys swung their hats and shouted +encouragement to the rider. Bailey was not visible. + +"Stay with 'im!" cried one. "Rake 'im! He's gittin' played out! Look +out! He's goin' to sunfish! Bust 'im wide open!" + +It was a huge parody of the afternoon performance, staged for Ma +Bailey's special benefit. Suddenly the cowboy who represented Blue +Smoke made an astounding buck and his rider bit the dust. + +Ma Bailey held the lamp aloft and gazed sternly at the two sweating, +puffing cowboys. "Where's Bailey?" she queried sharply. + +One of the men stepped forward and doffing his hat assumed an attitude +of profound gravity. "Blue there, he done pitched your husband, mam, +and broke his leg. Your husband done loped off on three laigs, to git +the doctor to fix it." + +"Let me catch sight of him and I'll fix it!" she snorted. "Jim, if +you're hidin' in that bunk-house you come out here--and behave +yourself. Lord knows you are old enough to know better." + +"That's right, mam. Jim is sure old enough to know better 'n to behave +hisself. You feed us so plumb good, mam, that we jest can't set still +nohow. I reckon it was the pie that done it. Reckon them dried apples +kind of turned to cider." + +Mrs. Bailey swung around with all the dignity of a liner leaving +harbor, and headed for the house. + +"Is she gone?" came in a hoarse whisper. + +"You come near this house to-night and you'll find out!" Mrs. Bailey +advised from the doorway. + +"It's the hay for yours, Jim," comforted a cowboy. + +Pete hesitated as to which course were better. Finally he decided to +"throw in" with the men. + +Bailey lighted the hanging lamp in the bunk-house, and the boys +shuffled in, grinning sheepishly. "You're sure a he-widder to-night," +said Bill Haskins sympathetically. + +Bailey grinned. His good wife was used to such pranks. In fact the +altogether unexpected and amusing carryings on of the boys did much +toward lightening the monotony when times were dull, as they were just +then. Had the boys ceased to cut up for any length of time, Ma Bailey +would have thought them ill and would have doctored them accordingly. + +Pete became interested in watching Bill Haskins endeavor to shave +himself with cold water by the light of the hanging lamp. + +Presently Pete's attention was diverted to the cowboy whom Mrs. Bailey +had sent outdoors to smoke. He had fished up from somewhere a piece of +cardboard and a blue pencil. He was diligently lettering a sign which +he eventually showed to his companions with no little pride. It read: + +"NO SMOKING ALOUD." + +Pete did not see the joke, but he laughed heartily with the rest. The +laughter had just about subsided when a voice came from across the way: +"Jim, you come right straight to bed!" + +Bailey indicated a bunk for Pete and stepped from the bunk-house. + +Presently the boys heard Mrs. Bailey's voice. "Good-night, boys." + +"Good-night, Ma!" they chorused heartily. + +And "Good-night, Pete," came from the house. + +"Good-night, Ma!" shrilled Pete, blushing. + +"I'm plumb sore!" asserted Haskins. "'Good-night, boys,' is good +enough for us. But did you hear what come after! I kin see who gits +all the extra pie around this here ranch! I've half a mind to quit." + +"What--eatin' pie?" + +"Nope! Joshin' Ma. She allus gits the best of us." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +POP ANNERSLEY'S BOY + +Several days after Pete's arrival at the Concho ranch, Andy White rode +in with a companion, dusty, tired, and hungry from a sojourn over near +the Apache line. White made his report to the foreman, unsaddled, and +was washing with a great deal of splutter and elbow-motion, when some +one slapped him on the back. He turned a dripping face to behold Pete +grinning at him. + +Andy's eyes lighted with pleasure. He stuck out a wet hand. "Did you +land a job?" + +"With both feet." + +"Good! I was so darned tired I clean forgot you was livin'. Say, I +saw ole José this afternoon. We was crossin' the bottom and rode into +his camp. He said you had quit him. I asked him if you come up here, +but he only shook his head and handed me the usual 'Quien sabe?' He'll +never git a sore throat from talkin' too much. Say, wait till I git +some of this here alkali out of my ears and we'll go and eat and then +have a smoke and talk it out. Gee! But I'm glad you landed! How'd +you work it?" + +"Easy. I rid that there Blue Smoke hoss--give 'em an exhibition of +real ridin' and the fo'man sure fell for my style." + +"Uh-huh. What kind of a fall did _you_ make?" + +"Well, I wasn't in shape to know--till I come to. The fellas said I +done all right till ole Smoke done that little double twist and left me +standin' in the air--only with my feet up. I ain't jest lovin' that +hoss a whole lot." + +Andy nodded sagely. "I tried him onct. So Bailey give you a job, eh?" + +"Kind of a job. Mostly peelin' potatoes and helpin' round the house. +Ma Bailey says I'm worth any two of the men helpin' round the house. +And I found out one thing--what Ma Bailey says round here goes." + +"You bet! She's the boss. If Ma don't like a guy, he don't work long +for the Concho. I recollect when Steve Gary quit over the T-Bar-T and +come over here lookin' for a job. Ma she sized him up, but didn't say +nothin' right away. But Gary he didn't stay long enough to git a +saddle warm. Ma didn't like him, nohow. He sure was a top-hand--but +that didn't help him none. He's over to the T-Bar-T now. Seen him the +other day. He's got some kind of a drag there, for they took him back. +Folks says--say, what's bitin' you?" + +"Nothin'. You said Gary?" + +"Yes. Why?" + +"I was jest thinkin'." + +Young Andy dried his face on the community towel, emptied the basin +with a flourish which drenched the pup and sent him yelping toward the +house, attempted to shy the basin so that it would land right-side up +on the bench--but the basin was wet and soapy and slipped. It sailed +through the door of the bunk-house and caromed off Bill Haskins's head. +Andy saw what had happened and, seizing Pete's arm, rushed him across +the clearing and into the house, where he grabbed Ma Bailey and kissed +her heartily, scrambled backward as she pretended to threaten him with +the mammoth coffee-pot, and sat down at the table with the remark that +he was "powerful tired." + +"You act like it," scoffed Mrs. Bailey. + +Bill Haskins, with a face like black thunder, clumped in and asked Mrs. +Bailey if she had any "stickin'-plaster." + +"Cut you, Bill?" + +"Bad!" said Bill, exhibiting a cut above the ear--the result of Andy's +basin-throwing. + +"Oh, you go 'long!" said Mrs. Bailey, pushing him away. "Askin' for +stickin'-plaster for a scratch like that!" + +Bill Haskins growled and grumbled as he took his place at the table. +He kept shaking his head like a dog with a sore ear, vowing that if he +found out "who thrun that basin" there would be an empty chair at the +Concho board before many days had passed. + +Andy White glanced at Pete and snickered. Bill Haskins glowered and +felt of his head. "Liked to skelp me," he asserted. "Ma, I jest ask +you what you would do now, if you was settin' peaceful in the +bunk-house pawin' over your war-bag, lookin' for a clean shirt, and all +of a sudden _whing_! along comes a warsh-basin and takes you right over +the ear. Wouldn't you feel like killin' somebody?" + +"Lookin' for a clean shirt!" whispered Andy to Pete. "Did you git +that?" + +Bill "got" it--and flushed amazingly. "I was meanin' a clean--clean +dress, Mrs. Bailey. A clean dress or stockin's, mebby." + +"Bill was lookin' for a clean dress," snickered Andy. Pete grinned. + +"Bill, I reckon it ain't your ear that needs that sticking-plaster. A +clean shirt, indeed! I'm surprised at you, William." + +"Gee, Ma called him Willum!" whispered Andy. "Bill better fade." + +The men tramped in, nodded to Mrs. Bailey, and sat down. Eating was a +serious matter with them. They said little. It was toward the end of +the meal, during a lull in the clatter of knives and forks, that Andy +White suggested, _sotto voce_, but intended for the assemblage, "That +Bill always was scared of a wash-basin." This gentle innuendo was lost +on the men, but Bill Haskins vowed mighty vengeance. + +It was evident from the start that Pete and Andy would run in double +harness. They were the youngsters of the outfit, liked each other, and +as the months went by became known--Ma Bailey had read the book--as +"The Heavenly Twins." Bailey asked his good wife why "heavenly." He +averred that "twins was all right--but as for 'heavenly'--" + +Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "I'm callin' 'em 'heavenly,' Jim, to kind of +even up for what the boys call 'em. I don't use that kind of language." + +Pete graduated from peeling potatoes and helping about the house to +riding line with young Andy, until the fall round-up called for all +hands, the loading of the chuck-wagon and a farewell to the lazy days +at the home ranch. The air was keen with the tang of autumn. The +hillside blue of spruce and pine was splashed here and there with the +rich gold of the quaking asp. Far vistas grew clearer as the haze of +summer heat waned and fled before the stealthy harbingers of winter. +In the lower levels of the distant desert, heat waves still pulsed +above the grayish brown reaches of sand and brush--but the desert was +fifty, sixty, eighty miles away, spoken of as "down there" by the +riders of the high country. And Young Pete, detailed to help "gather" +in some of the most rugged timberland of the Blue, would not have +changed places with any man. He had been allotted a string of ponies, +placed under the supervision of an old hand, entered on the pay-roll at +the nominal salary of thirty dollars a month, and turned out to do his +share in the big round-up, wherein riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue, +the Eight-O-Eight, and the Concho rode with a loose rein and a quick +spur, gathering and bunching the large herds over the high country. + +There was a fly in Pete's coffee, however. Young Andy White had been +detailed to ride another section of the country. Bailey had wisely +separated these young hopefuls, fearing that competition--for they were +always striving to outdo each other--might lead to a hard fall for one +or both. Moreover, they were always up to some mischief or other--Andy +working the schemes that Pete usually invented for the occasion. Up to +the time that he arrived at the Concho ranch, Young Pete had never +known the joy of good-natured, rough-and-tumble horseplay, that +wholesome diversion that tries a man out, and either rubs off the +ragged edges of his temper or marks him as an undesirable and +to-be-let-alone. Pete, while possessing a workable sense of humor, was +intense--somewhat quick on the trigger, so to speak. The frequent +roughings he experienced served to steady him, and also taught him to +distinguish the tentative line between good-natured banter and the +veiled insult. + +Unconsciously he studied his fellows, until he thought he pretty well +knew their peculiarities and preferences. Unrealized by Pete, and by +themselves, this set him apart from them. They never studied him, but +took him for just what he seemed--a bright, quick, and withal +industrious youngster, rather quiet at times, but never sullen. +Bailey, whose business it was to know and handle men, confided to his +wife that he did not quite understand Pete. And Mrs. Bailey, who was +really fond of Pete, was consistently feminine when she averred that it +wasn't necessary to understand him so long as he attended to his work +and behaved himself, which was Mrs. Bailey's way of dodging the issue. +She did not understand Pete herself. "He does a heap of thinking--for +a boy," she told Bailey. "He's got something' besides cattle on his +mind," Bailey asserted. Mrs. Bailey had closed the question for the +time being with the rather vague assertion, "I should hope so." + +The first real inkling that Andy White had of Pete's deeper nature was +occasioned by an incident during the round-up. + +The cutting-out and branding were about over. The Concho men, camped +round their wagon, were fraternizing with visitors from the Blue and +T-Bar-T. Every kind of gossip was afloat. The Government was going to +make a game preserve of the Blue Range. Old man Dobson, of the +Eight-O-Eight, had fired one of his men for packing whiskey into the +camp: "Dobson was drunk hisself!" was asserted. One sprightly and +inventive son-of-saddle-leather had brought a pair of horse-clippers to +the round-up. Every suffering puncher in the outfit had been thrown +and clipped, including the foreman, and even the cattle inspector. +Rumor had it that the boys from the Blue intended to widen their scope +of operation and clip everybody. The "gentleman [described in the +vernacular] who started to clip my [also described] head'll think he's +tackled a tree-kitty," stated a husky cowboy from the T-Bar-T. + +Old Montoya's name was mentioned by another rider from the T-Bar-T. +Andy who was lying beside Pete, just within the circle of firelight, +nudged him. + +"We run every nester out of this country; and it's about time we +started in on the sheep," said this individual, and he spoke not +jestingly, but with a vicious meaning in his voice, that silenced the +talk. + +Bailey was there and Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, Bud Long, foreman of +the Blue, and possibly some fifteen or eighteen visiting cowboys. The +strident ill-nature of the speaker challenged argument, but the boys +were in good-humor. + +"What you pickin' on Montoya for?" queried a cowboy, laughing. "He +ain't here." + +Pete sat up, naturally interested in the answer. + +"He's lucky he ain't," retorted the cow-puncher. + +"_You're_ lucky he ain't," came from Pete's vicinity. + +"Who says so?" + +Andy White tugged at Pete's sleeve. "Shut up, Pete! That's Steve Gary +talkin'. Don't you go mixin' with Gary. He's right quick with his +gun. What's a-bitin' you, anyhow?" + +"Who'd you say?" queried Pete. + +"Gary--Steve Gary. Reckon you heard of him." + +"Who says I'm lucky he ain't here?" again challenged Gary. + +"Shut up, Steve," said a friendly cowboy. "Can't you take a josh?" + +"Who's lookin' for a row, anyhow?" queried another cowboy. "I ain't." + +The men laughed. Pete's face was somber in the firelight. Gary! The +man who had led the raid on Pop Annersley's homestead. Pete knew that +he would meet Gary some day, and he was curious to see the man who was +responsible for the killing of Annersley. He had no definite plan--did +not know just what he would do when he met him. Time had dulled the +edge of Pete's earlier hatred and experience had taught him to leave +well enough alone. But that strident voice, edged with malice, had +stirred bitter memories. Pete felt that should he keep silent it would +reflect on his loyalty to both Montoya and Annersley. There were men +there who knew he had worked for Montoya. They knew, but hardly +expected that Pete would take up Gary's general challenge. He was but +a youth--hardly more than a boy. The camp was somewhat surprised when +Pete got to his feet and stepped toward the fire. + +"I'm the one that said you was lucky Montoya wasn't here," he asserted. +"And I'm leavin' it to my boss, or Bud Long, or your own boss"--and he +indicated Houck with a gesture--"if I ain't right." + +"Who in hell are you, anyhow?" queried Gary, + +"Me? I'm Pop Annersley's boy, Pete. Mebby you recollec' you said +you'd kill me if I talked about that shootin'. I was a kid then--and I +was sure scared of the bunch that busted into the shack--three growed +men ag'in' a kid--a-threatenin' what they'd do to the man that bumped +off two of their braves. You was askin' who talked up awhile back. It +was me." + +Gary was on his feet and took a step toward Pete when young Andy rose. +Pete was his bunkie. Andy didn't want to fight, but if Gary pulled his +gun . . . + +Bailey got up quietly, and turning his back on Gary told Pete and Andy +to saddle up and ride out to relieve two of the boys on night-herd. + +It was Bud Long who broke the tension. "It's right late for young +roosters to be crowin' that way," he chuckled. + +Everybody laughed except Gary. "But it ain't too late for full-growed +roosters to crow!" he asserted. + +Long chuckled again. "Nope. I jest crowed." + +Not a man present missed the double-meaning, including Gary. And Gary +did not want any of Long's game. The genial Bud had delicately +intimated that his sympathies were with the Concho boys. Then there +were Bailey and Bill Haskins and several others among the Concho outfit +who would never see one of their own get the worst of it. Gary turned +and slunk away toward his own wagon. One after another the T-Bar-T +boys rose and followed. The Annersley raid was not a popular subject +with them. + +Bailey turned to Long. "Thanks, Bud." + +"'Mornin', Jim," said Long facetiously. "When 'd you git here?" + +Two exceedingly disgruntled young cowboys saddled up and rode out to +the night-herd. They had worked all day, and now they would have to +ride herd the rest of the night, for it was nearing twelve. As relief +men they would have to hold their end of the herd until daybreak. + +"I told you to shut up," complained Andy. + +"I wasn't listenin' to you," said Pete, + +"Yes! And this is what we git for your gittin' red-headed about a ole +Mexican sheep-herder. But, honest, Pete, you sure come clost to +gittin' yours. Gary mebby wouldn't 'a' pulled on you--but he'd 'a' +sure trimmed you if Bailey hadn't stepped in." + +"He'd never put a hand on me," stated Pete. + +"You mean you'd 'a' plugged 'im?" + +"I'm meanin' I would." + +"But, hell, Pete, you ain't no killer! And they's no use gettin' +started that way. They's plenty as would like to see Gary bumped +off--but I don't want to be the man to do it. Suppose Gary did lead +that raid on ole man Annersley? That's over and done. Annersley is +dead. You're livin'--and sure two dead men don't make a live one. +What's the good o' takin' chances like that?" + +"I dunno, Andy. All I know is that when Gary started talkin' about +Montoya I commenced to git hot inside. I knowed I was a fool--but I +jest had to stand up and tell him what he was. It wa'n't me doin' it. +It was jest like somethin' big a-pullin' me onto my feet and makin' me +talk like I did. It was jest like you was ridin' the edge of some +steep and bad goin' and a maverick takes over and you know you got no +business to put your hoss down after him. But your saddle is +a-creakin' and a-sayin', 'Go git 'im!'--and you jest nacherally go. +Kin you tell me what makes a fella do the like of that?" + +"I dunno, Pete. But chasin' mavericks is different." + +"Mebby. But the idee is jest the same." + +"Well, I'm hopin' you don't git many more of them idees right soon. +I'm sure with you to the finish, but I ain't wishful to git mine that +way." + +"I ain't askin' you to," said Pete, for he was angry with himself +despite the logic of his own argument. + +They were near the herd. Andy, who had flushed hotly at Pete's rather +ungenerous intimation, spurred his pony round and rode toward a dim +figure that nodded in the starlight. Pete whirled his own pony and +rode in the opposite direction. + +Toward dawn, as they circled, they met again. + +"Got the makin's?" queried Pete. + +"Right here," said Andy. + +As Pete took the little sack of tobacco, their hands touched and +gripped. "I seen you standin' side of me," said Pete, "when I was +talkin' to Gary." + +"You was dreaming" laughed Andy. "That was your shadow." + +"Mebby," asserted Pete succinctly. "But I seen out of the corner of my +eye that that there shadow had its hand on its gun. And _I_ sure +didn't." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +IN THE PIT + +The round-up was over. A trainload of Concho steers was on its way +East, accompanied by four of the Concho boys. The season had been a +good one and prices were fair. Bailey was feeling well. There was no +obvious reason for his restlessness. He had eaten a hearty breakfast. +The sky was clear, and a thin, fragrant wind ran over the high mesa, a +wind as refreshing as a drink of cold mountain water on a hot day. +Suddenly it occurred to Bailey that the deer season was open--that "the +hunting winds were loose." Somewhere in the far hills the bucks were +running again. A little venison would be a welcome change from a +fairly steady diet of beef. + +Bailey saddled up, and hung his rifle under the stirrup-leather. He +tucked a compact lunch in his saddle-pockets, filled a _morral_ with +grain and set off in the direction of the Blue Range. + +Once on the way and his restlessness evaporated. He did not realize +that deer-hunting was an excuse to be alone. + +Jim Bailey, however, was not altogether happy. He was worried about +Young Pete. The incident at the round-up had set him thinking. The +T-Bar-T and the Concho men were not over-friendly. There were certain +questions of grazing and water that had never been definitely settled. +The Concho had always claimed the right to run their cattle on the Blue +Mesa with the Blue Range as a tentative line of demarcation. The +T-Bar-T always claimed the Blue as part of their range. There had been +some bickering until the killing of Annersley, when Bailey promptly +issued word to his men to keep the Concho cattle north of the +homestead. He had refused to have anything to do with the raid, nor +did he now intend that his cattle should be an evidence that he had +even countenanced it. + +Young Pete had unwittingly stirred up the old enmity. Any untoward act +of a cowboy under such circumstances would be taken as expressive of +the policy of the foreman. Even if Pete's quarrel was purely a +personal matter there was no telling to what it might lead. The right +or wrong of the matter, personally, was not for Bailey to decide. His +duty was to keep his cattle where they belonged and his men out of +trouble. And because he was known as level-headed and capable he held +the position of actual manager of the Concho--owned by an Eastern +syndicate--but he was too modest and sensible to assume any such title, +realizing that as foreman he was in closer touch with his men. They +told him things, as foreman, that as manager he would have heard +indirectly through a foreman--qualified or elaborated as that official +might choose. + +As he jogged along across the levels Bailey thought it all over. He +would have a talk with Young Pete when he returned and try to show him +that his recent attitude toward Gary militated against the Concho's +unprinted motto: "The fewer quarrels the more beef." + +Halfway across the mesa there was what was known as "The Pit "; a +circular hole in the plain; rock-walled, some forty or fifty yards in +diameter and as many yards deep. Its bottom was covered with fine, +loose sand, a strange circumstance in a country composed of tufa and +volcanic rock. Legend had it that the Pit was an old Hopi tank, or +water-hole--a huge cistern where that prehistoric tribe conserved the +rain. Bits of broken pottery and scattered beads bore out this theory, +and round the tank lay the low, crumbling mounds of what had once been +a village. + +The trail on the Blue ran close to the Pit, and no rider passing it +failed to glance down. Cattle occasionally strayed into it and if weak +were unable to climb out again without help from horse and rope. As +Bailey approached, he heard the unmistakable bark of a six-shooter. He +slipped from his horse, strode cautiously to the rim, and peered over. + +Young Pete had ridden his horse down the ragged trail and was at the +moment engaged in six-gun practice. Bailey drew back and sat down. +Pete had gathered together some bits of rock and had built a target +loosely representing a man. The largest rock, on which was laid a +small round, bowlder for a head, was spattered with lead. Pete, quite +unconscious of an audience, was cutting loose with speed and accuracy. +He threw several shots at the place which represented the vitals of his +theoretical enemy, punched the shells from his gun, and reloaded. Then +he stepped to his horse and led him opposite the target and some twenty +feet from it. Crouching, he fired under the horse's belly. The horse +bucked and circled the enclosure. Pete strode after him, caught him +up, and repeated the performance. Each time Pete fired, the horse +naturally jumped and ran. Patiently Pete caught him up again. Finally +the animal, although trembling and wild-eyed, stood to the gun. Pete +patted its neck. Reloading he mounted. Bailey was curious to see what +the boy would do next. Pete turned the horse and, spurring him, flung +past the target, emptying his gun as he went. Then he dismounted and +striding up to within ten yards of the man-target, holstered his gun +and stood for a moment as still as a stone itself. Suddenly his hand +flashed to his side. Bailey rubbed his eyes. The gun had not come +from the holster, yet the rock target was spattered with five more +shots. Bailey could see the lead fly as the blunt slugs flattened on +the stone. + +"The young son-of-a-gun!" muttered Bailey. "Dinged if he ain't +shootin' through the open holster! Where in blazes did he learn that +bad-man trick?" + +Thus far Pete had not said a word, even to the horse. But now that he +had finished his practice he strode to the rock-target and thrust his +hand against it. "You're dead!" he exclaimed. "You're plumb +salivated!" He pushed, and the man-target toppled and fell. + +"Ain't you goin' to bury him?" queried Bailey. + +Pete whirled. The color ran up his neck and face. "H'lo, Jim." + +"How'd you know it was me?" Bailey stood up. + +"Knowed your voice." + +"Well, come on up. I was wonderin' who was down there settin' off the +fireworks. Didn't hear you till I got most on top of you. You sure +got some private shootin'-gallery." + +Pete led his pony up the steep trail and squatted beside Bailey. "How +long you been watching me, Jim?" + +"Oh, jest since you started shooting under your hoss. What's the idea?" + +"Nothin', jest practicin'." + +"You must 'a' been practicin' quite a' spell. You handle that +smoke-wagon like an ole-timer." + +"I ain't advertisin' it." + +"Well, it's all right, Pete. Glad I got a front seat. Never figured +you was a top-hand with a gun. Now I'm wise. I know enough not to +stack up against you." + +Pete smiled his slow smile and pushed back his hat. "I reckon you're +right about that. I never did no shootin' in company. Ole José +Montoya always said to do your practicin' by yourself, and then nobody +knows just how you would play your hand." + +Bailey frowned and nodded. "Well, seein' as I'm in on it, Pete, I'd +kind of like to know myself." + +"Why, I'm jest figurin' that some day mebby somebody'll want to hang my +hide on the fence. I don't aim to let him." + +"Meanin' Gary?" + +"The same. I ain't _lookin'_ for Gary--even if he did shoot down Pop +Annersley--nor I ain't tryin' to keep out of his way. I'm ridin' this +country and I'm like to meet up with him 'most any time. That's all." + +"Shucks, Pete! You forget Gary. He sure ain't worth gettin' hung for. +Gary ain't goin' to put you down so long as you ride for the Concho. +He knows somebody 'd get him. You jest practice shootin' all you +like--but tend to business the rest of the time and you'll live longer. +You can figure on one thing, if Gary was to get you he wouldn't live to +get out of this country." + +"You're handin' me your best card," said Pete. "Gary killed Annersley. +The law didn't get Gary. And none of you fellas got him. He's ridin' +this here country yet. And you was tellin' me to forget him." + +"But that's different, Pete. No one saw Gary shoot Annersley. It was +night. Annersley was killed in his cabin--by a shot through the +window. Anybody might have fired that shot. Why, you were there +yourself--and you can't prove who done it." + +"I can't, eh? Well, between you and me, Jim, I _know_. One of Gary's +own men said that night when they were leavin' the cabin, 'It must 'a' +been Steve that drilled the ole man because Steve was the only puncher +who knowed where the window was and fired into it.'" + +"I didn't know that. So you aim to even up, eh?" + +"Nope. I jest aim to be ready to even up." + +Bailey strode back to his horse. "I'm goin' up in the hills and look +for a deer. Want to take a little pasear with me?" + +"Suits me, Jim." + +"Come on, then." + +They mounted and rode side by side across the noon mesa. + +The ponies stepped briskly. The air was like a song. Far away the +blue hills invited exploration of their timbered and mysterious +silences. + +"Makes a fella feel like forgettin' everything and everybody--but jest +this," said Pete, gesturing toward the ranges. + +"The bucks'll be on the ridges," remarked Bailey. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +GAME + +They got their buck--a big six-point--just before the sun dipped below +the flaming sky-line. In order to pack the meat in, one or the other +would have to walk. Pete volunteered, but Bailey generously offered to +toss up for the privilege of riding. He flipped a coin and won. +"Suits me," said Pete, grinning. "It's worth walkin' from here to the +ranch jest to see you rope that deer on my hoss. I reckon you'll +sweat." + +It took about all of the foreman's skill and strength, assisted by +Pete, to rope the deer on the pony, who had never packed game and who +never intended to if he could help it. And it was a nervous horse that +Pete led down the long woodland trail as the shadows grew distorted and +grim in the swiftly fading light Long before they reached the mesa +level it was dark. The trail was carpeted with needles of the pine and +their going was silent save for the creak of the saddles and the +occasional click of a hoof against an uncovered rock. Pete's horse +seemed even more nervous as they made the last descent before striking +the mesa. "Somethin' besides deer is bother'n' him," said Pete as they +worked cautiously down a steep switchback. The horse had stopped and +was trembling. Bailey glanced back. "Up there!" he whispered, +gesturing to the trail above them. Pete had also been looking round, +and before Bailey could speak again, a sliver of flame split the +darkness and the roar of Pete's six-gun shattered the eerie silence of +the hillside. Bailey's horse plunged off the trail and rocketed +straight down the mountain. Pete's horse, rearing from the hurtling +shape that lunged from the trail above, tore the rope from his hand and +crashed down the hillside, snorting. Something was threshing about the +trail and coughing horribly. Pete would have run if he had known which +way to run. He had seen two lambent green dots glowing above him and +had fired with that quick instinct of placing his shot--the result of +long practice. The flopping and coughing ceased. Pete, with cocked +gun poked ahead of him, struck a match. In its pale flare he saw the +long gray shape of a mountain lien stretched across the trail. +Evidently the lion had smelled the blood of the deer, or the odor of +the sweating horses--a mountain lion likes horse-flesh better than +anything else--and had padded down the trail in the darkness, following +as close as he dared. The match flamed and spluttered out. Pete +wisely backed away a few paces and listened. A little wind whispered +in the pines and a branch creaked, but there came no sound of movement +from the lion. "I reckon I plugged him right!" muttered Pete. "Wonder +what made Jim light out in sech a hurry?" And, "Hey, Jim!" he called. + +From far below came a faint _Whoo_! _Halloo_! Then the words separate +and distinct: "I--got--your--horse." + +"I--got--a--lion," called Pete shrilly. + +"Who--is lyin'--?" came from the depths below. + +Pete grinned despite his agitation. "Come--on--back!" shouted Pete. +He thought he heard Bailey say something like "damn," but it may have +been, "I am." Pete struck another match and stepped nearer the lion +this time. The great, lithe beast was dead. The blunt-nose forty-five +at close range had torn away a part of its skull. "I done spiled the +head," complained Pete. In the succeeding darkness he heard the faint +tinkle of shod feet on the trail. + +Presently he could distinctly hear the heavy breathing of the horse and +the gentle creak of the saddle. Within speaking distance he told the +foreman that he had shot a whopper of a lion and it looked as though +they would need another pack-horse. Bailey said nothing until he had +arrived at the angle of the switchback, when he lighted a match and +gazed at the great gray cat of the rocks. + +"You get twenty dollars bounty," he told Pete. "And you sure stampeded +me into the worst piece of down timber I've rode for a long time. +Gosh! but you're quick with that smoke-wagon of yours! Lost my hat and +liked to broke my leg ag'in' a tree, but I run plumb onto your horse +draggin' a rope. I tied him down there on the flat. I figure you've +saved a dozen calves by killin' that kitty-cat. Did you know it was a +lion when you shot?" + +"Nope, or I'd 'a' sure beat the hosses down the grade. I jest cut +loose at them two green eyes a-burnin' in the brush and _whump_! down +comes Mr. Kitty-cat almost plumb atop me. Mebby I wasn't scared! I +was wonderin' why you set off in sech a hurry. You sure burned the +ground down the mountain." + +"Just stayin' with my saddle," laughed Bailey. "Old Frisco here ain't +lost any lions recent." + +"Will he pack?" + +"I dunno. Wish it was daylight." + +"Wish we had another rope," said Pete. "My rope is on my hoss and +yours is cinchin' the deer on him. And that there lion sure won't +lead. _He's_ dead." + +"'Way high up in the Mokiones,'" chanted Bailey. + +"'A-trippin' down the slope'!" laughed Pete. "And we ain't got no +rope. But say, Jim, can't we kind of hang him acrost your saddle and +steady him down to the flats?" + +"I'll see what I can do with the tie-strings. I'll hold Frisco. You +go ahead and heave him up." + +Pete approached the lion and tried to lift it, but it weaved and +slipped from his arms. "Limper 'n wet rawhide!" asserted Pete. + +"Are you that scared? Shucks, now, I'd 'a' thought--" + +"The doggone lion, I mean. Every time I heave at him he jest folds up +and lays ag'in' me like he was powerful glad to see me. You try him." + +The horse snorted and shied as the foreman slung the huge carcass +across the saddle and tied the lion's fore feet and hind feet with the +saddle-strings. They made slow progress to the flats below, where they +had another lively session with Pete's horse, who had smelled the lion. +Finally with their game roped securely they set out on foot for the +ranch. + +The hunting, and especially Pete's kill, had drawn them close together. +They laughed and talked, making light of high-heeled boots that pinched +and blistered as they plodded across the starlit mesa. + +"Let's put one over on the boys!" suggested Pete. "We'll drift in +quiet, hang the buck in the slaughter-house, and then pack the +kitty-cat into the bunk-house and leave him layin' like he was asleep, +by Bill Haskins's bunk. Ole Bill allus gits his feet on the floor +afore he gits his eyes open. Mebby he won't step high and lively when +he sees what he's got his feet on!" + +Bailey, plodding ahead and leading Frisco, chuckled. "I'll go you, +Pete, but I want you to promise me somethin'." + +"Shoot!" + +Bailey waited for Pete to come alongside. "It's this way, Pete--and +this here is plain outdoor talk, which you sabe. Mrs. Bailey and me +ain't exactly hatin' you, as you know. But we would hate to see you +get into trouble on account of Gary or any of the T-Bar-T boys. And +because you can shoot is a mighty good reason for you to go slow with +that gun. 'T ain't that I give two whoops and a holler what happens to +Gary. It's what might happen to you. I was raised right here in this +country and I know jest how those things go. You're workin' for the +Concho. What you do, the Concho's got to back up. I couldn't hold the +boys if Gary got you, or if you got Gary. They'd be hell a-poppin' all +over the range. Speakin' personal, I'm with you to the finish, for I +know how you feel about Pop Annersley. But you ain't growed up yet. +You got plenty time to think. If you are a-hankerin' for Gary's scalp, +when you git to be twenty-one, why, go to it. But you're a kid yet, +and a whole lot can happen in five or six years. Mebby somebody'll git +Gary afore then. I sure hope they do. But while you're worldly for +me--jest forget Gary. I ain't tellin' you you _got_ to. I'm talkin' +as your friend." + +"I'll go you," said Pete slowly. "But if Steve Gary comes at me--" + +"That's different. Let him talk--and you keep still. Keepin' still at +the right time has saved many a man's hide. Most folks talk too much." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE KITTY-CAT + +Pete and Bailey took off their boots just before they entered the +bunk-house. They lugged the defunct mountain lion in and laid it by +Bill Haskins's bunk. + +Pete propped the lion's head up with one of Haskin's boots. The effect +was realistic enough. The lion lay stretched out in a most natural +way, apparently gazing languidly at the sleeping cow-puncher. This was +more or less accidental, as they dare not light the lamp for fear of +waking the men. Bailey stole softly to the door and across to the +house. Pete undressed and turned in, to dream of who knows what +ghostly lions prowling through the timberlands of the Blue Range. It +seemed but a few minutes when he heard the clatter of the pack-horse +bell that Mrs. Bailey used to call the men to breakfast. The chill +gray half-light of early morning discovered him with one cautious eye, +gazing across at Haskins, who still snored, despite the bell. "Oh, +Bill!" called Pete. Haskins's snore broke in two as he swallowed the +unlaunched half and sat up rubbing his eyes. He swung his feet down +and yawned prodigiously. "Heh--hell!" he exclaimed as his bare feet +touched the furry back of the lion. Bill glanced down into those +half-closed eyes. His jaw sagged. Then he bounded to the middle of +the room. With a whoop he dashed through the doorway, rounded into the +open, and sprinted for the corral fence, his bare legs twinkling like +the side-rods of a speeding locomotive and his shirt-tail fluttering in +the morning breeze. Andy White leaped from his bunk, saw the dead +lion, and started to follow Haskins. Another cowboy, Avery, was +dancing on one foot endeavoring to don his overalls. + +Hank Barley, an old-timer, jumped up with his gun poised, ready for +business. "Why, he's daid!" he exclaimed, poking the lion with the +muzzle of his gun. + +Pete rose languidly and began to dress. "What's all the hocus, fellas? +Where's Haskins?" + +"Bill he done lit out like he'd lost somethin'," said Barley. "Now I +wonder what young ijjut packed that tree-cat in here last night? Jim +said yesterday he was goin' to do a little lookin' round. Looks like +he sure seen somethin'." + +"Yes," drawled Pete. "Jim and me got a buck and this here lion. We +didn't have time to git anything else." + +"Too bad you didn't git a bear and a couple of bob-cats while you was +at it." + +"Hey, boys!" called Andy from the doorway. "Come see Bill!" + +The men crowded to the door. Perched on the top rail of the corral +fence sat Bill Haskins shivering and staring at the house. "We killed +your bed-feller!" called Barley. "He done et your pants afore we +plugged him, but I kin lend you a pair. You had better git a-movin' +afore Ma Bailey--" + +"Ssh!" whispered Andy White. "There's Ma standin' in the kitchen door +and--she's seen Bill!" + +Bill also realized that he had been seen by Mrs. Bailey. He shivered +and shook, teetering on the top rail until indecision got the better of +his equilibrium. With a wild backward flip he disappeared from the +high-line of vision. Ma Bailey also disappeared. The boys doubled up +and groaned as Bill Haskins crawled on all fours across the corral +toward the shelter of the stable. + +"Oh, my Gosh!" gasped Barley. "S-s-ome--body--sh-shoot me and put me +out of my m-misery!" + +A few seconds later Bailey crossed the yard carrying an extra pair of +those coverings most essential to male comfort and equanimity. + +It was a supernaturally grave bevy of cow-punchers that gathered round +the table that morning. Ma Bailey's silence was eloquent of suppressed +indignation. Bailey also seemed subdued. Pete was as placid as a +sleeping cherub. Only Andy White seemed really overwrought. He seemed +to suffer internally. The sweat stood out on Bill Haskins's red face, +but his appetite was in no way impaired. He ate rapidly and drank much +coffee. Ma Bailey was especially gracious to him. Presently from +Pete's end of the table came a faint "Me-e-ow!" Andy White put down +his cup of coffee and excusing himself fled from the room, Pete stared +after him as though greatly astonished. Barley the imperturbable +seemed to be suffering from internal spasms, and presently left the +table. Blaze Andrews, the quietest of the lot, also departed without +finishing his breakfast. + +"Ain't you feelin' well, Ma?" queried Pete innocently. + +Bailey rose and said he thought he would "go see to the horses"--a very +unusual procedure for him. Pete also thought it was about time to +depart. He rose and nodded to Bill. "Glad to see you back, Bill." +Then he went swiftly. + +Haskins heaved a sigh. "I--doggone it--I--You got any +sticking-plaster, Ma?" + +"Yes, William"--and "William" because Ma Bailey was still a bit +indignant, although she appreciated that Bill was more sinned against +than sinning. "Yes, William. Did you hurt yourself?" + +"Stepped on a nail--er--this mawnin'. I--I wasn't lookin' where I +stepped." + +"What started you out--that way?" queried Mrs. Bailey. + +"Why, hell, Ma--I--wasn't meanin' hell, Ma,--but somebody--I reckon I +know who--plants a mountain lion right aside my bunk last night when I +was sleepin'. Fust thing this mawnin' I heard that bell and jumped out +o' my bunk plumb onto the cuss. Like to bruk my neck. That there +lion was a-lookin' right up into my face, kind of sleepy-eyed and +smilin' like he was hungry. I sure didn't stop to find out. 'Course, +when I got my wind, I knowed it was a joke. I reckon I ought to kill +somebody--" + +"A lion, Bill? Hev you been drinkin'?" + +"Drinkin'! Why, Ma, I ain't had a drop sence--" + +"I reckon I better go see what's in that bunk-house," said Mrs. Bailey, +rising. "I'll get you that stickin'-plaster when I come back." + +Mrs. Bailey realized that something unusual had started Bill Haskins on +his wild career that morning, but she could not quite believe that +there was a mountain lion--alive or dead--in the bunk-house until she +saw the great beast with her own amazed eyes. And she could not quite +believe that Pete had shot the lion until Bailey himself certified to +Pete's story of the hunt. Mrs. Bailey, for some feminine reason, felt +that she had been cheated. Bailey had not told her about the lion. +She had been indignant with Haskins for his apparently unseemly +conduct, and had been still more indignant with Pete when she +appreciated that he was at the bottom of the joke. But Haskins was +innocent and Pete was now somewhat of a hero. The good woman turned on +her husband and rebuked him roundly for allowing such "goings-on." +Bailey took his dressing-down silently. He felt that the fun had been +worth it. Pete himself was rather proud and obviously afraid he would +show it. But the atmosphere settled to normal when the men went to +work. Pete was commissioned to skin and cut up the deer. Later in the +day he tackled the lion, skinned it, fleshed out the nose, ears, and +eyelids, and salted and rolled the hide. Roth, the storekeeper at +Concho, was somewhat of a taxidermist and Mrs. Bailey had admired the +lion-skin. + +Pete felt that he could have used the twenty dollars bounty, but he was +nothing if not generous. That afternoon he rode to Concho with the +lion-skin tied behind the cantle. He returned to the ranch late that +night. Next morning he was mysteriously reticent about the +disappearance of the hide. He intended to surprise Ma Bailey with a +real Christmas present. No one guessed his intent. Pete was good at +keeping his own counsel. + +A few evenings later the men, loafing outside the bunk-house, amused +themselves by originating titles for the chief actors in the recent +range-drama. Pete, without question, was "The Lion Tamer," Bailey was +"Big-Chief-not-Afraid-of-a-Buck." Ma Bailey was "Queen of the +Pies"--not analogous to the drama but flattering--and Haskins, after +some argument and much suggestion, was entitled "Claw-Hammer." Such +titles as "Deer-Foot," "Rail-Hopper," "Back-Flip Bill," +"Wind-Splitter," and the like were discarded in favor of +"Claw-Hammer"--for the unfortunate Bill had stepped on a rusty nail in +his recent exodus from the lion's den, and was at the time suffering +from a swollen and inflamed foot--really a serious injury, although +scoffed at by the good-natured Bill himself despite Mrs. Bailey's +solicitude and solution of peroxide. + +Winter, with its thin shifts of snow, its intermittent sunshiny days, +its biting winds that bored through chaps and heavy gloves, was finally +borne away on the reiterant, warm breezes of spring. Mrs. Bailey was +the proud and happy possessor of a lion-skin rug--Pete's Christmas +present to her--proud of the pelt itself and happy because Young Pete +had foregone the bounty that he might make the present, which was +significant of his real affection. Coats and heavy overshoes were +discarded. Birds sang among sprouting aspen twigs, and lean, +mangy-looking coyotes lay on the distant hillsides soaking in the +warmth. Gaunt cattle lowed in the hollows and spring calves staggered +about, gazing at this new world with round, staring eyes. + +Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, had discussed with Bailey the advisability +of defining a line between the two big ranches. They came to an +agreement and both stated that they would send men to roughly survey +the line, fix upon landmarks, and make them known to the riders of both +outfits. Bailey, who had to ride from Concho to the railroad to meet a +Kansas City commission man, sent word back to the Concho to have two +men ride over to Annersley's old homestead the following day. Mrs. +Bailey immediately commissioned Young Pete and Andy to ride over to the +homestead, thinking that Pete was a particularly good choice as he knew +the country thereabouts. She cautioned the boys to behave +themselves--she always did when Andy and Pete set out together--and +giving them a comfortable package of lunch, she turned to her household +work. + +"I'm takin' Blue Smoke," stated Pete as Andy packed his saddle to the +corral. + +"You're takin' chances then," observed Andy. + +"Oh, I got him so he knows which way is north," asserted Pete. "I been +gittin' acquainted with that cayuse, Chico." + +"Yes. I seen you settin' on the ground watchin' him buck your saddle +off a couple of times," snorted Andy. + +"Well, seein' as this here pasear is straight riding I reckon I'll +crawl him and turn him loose. He needs exercisin'." + +"Well, I don't," asserted Andy. "'Course, some folks has always got to +be showin' off. If Bailey was here you wouldn't be ridin' that hoss." + +"'And up and down and round and 'cross, that top-boss done his best!'" +sang Pete as he lugged his saddle into the corral. + +"'All hell can't glue you to that hoss when he gits headed west,'" Andy +misquoted for the occasion. + +"You jest swing that gate open when I git aboard," suggested Pete. +"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River." + +Andy laughed. + + "The Ridin' Kid from Powder River + Ain't got no lungs nor ary liver, + Some says it was a blue cayuse . . ." + +"Go git you a sack and gather up the leavin's," laughed Pete, as he +kicked his foot into the stirrup and hit the saddle before Blue Smoke +knew what had happened. Andy swung the gate open. The horse headed +for the mesa, pitching as he ran. This was not half so bad for Pete as +though Blue Smoke had been forced to confine his efforts to the corral. +Pete had long since discovered that when Blue Smoke saw space ahead of +him, he was not apt to pitch hard, but rather to take it out in running +bucks and then settle down to a high-lope--as he did on this occasion, +after he had tried with his usual gusto to unseat his rider. There is +something admirable in the spirit of a horse that refuses to be ridden, +and there was much to be said for Blue Smoke. He possessed tremendous +energy, high courage, and strength, signified by the black stripe down +his back and the compact muscles of his flanks and fore legs. Pete had +coveted the horse ever since that first and unforgettable experience in +the corral. Bailey had said jokingly that he would give Pete the +outlaw if Pete would break him. Pete had frequently had it out with +Blue Smoke when the men were away. He had taken Bailey at his word, +but as usual had said nothing about riding the animal. + +Andy watched Pete until he saw that Blue Smoke had ceased to pitch and +was running, when he swung up and loped out after his companion. He +overtook him a half-mile from the ranch, and loped alongside, watching +Pete with no little admiration and some envy. It struck Andy that +while Pete never made much of his intent or his accomplishment, +whatever it might be, he usually succeeded in gaining his end. There +was something about Pete that puzzled Andy; a kind of silent +forcefulness that emanated neither from bulk nor speech; for Pete was +rather lithe and compact than "beefy" and more inclined to silence than +to speech. Yet there was none of the "do or die" attitude about him, +either. But whatever it was, it was there--evident in Pete's eye as he +turned and glanced at Andy--an intenseness of purpose, not manifest in +any outward show or form. + +"You sure tamed him," said Andy admiringly. + +"Only for this mornin'," acknowledged Pete. "To-morrow mornin' he'll +go to it ag'in. But I aim to sweat some of it out of him afore we hit +the Blue. Got the makin's?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +FOUR MEN + +Pete grew silent as he rode with Andy toward the hill-trail that led to +his old home on the Blue Mesa, where he finally surveyed the traces of +old man Annersley's patient toil. The fences had been pulled down and +the water-hole enlarged. The cabin, now a rendezvous for occasional +riders of the T-Bar-T, had suffered from weather and neglect. The door +sagging from one hinge, the grimy, cobwebbed windows, the unswept +floor, and the litter of tin cans about the yard, stirred bitter +memories in Pete's heart. Andy spoke of Annersley, "A fine old man," +but Pete had no comment to make. They loafed outside in the afternoon +sunshine, momentarily expecting the two men from the T-Bar-T. +Presently Andy White rose and wandered off toward the spring. Pete sat +idly tossing pellets of earth at a tin can. He was thinking of +Annersley, of the old man's unvarying kindliness and quaint humor. He +wished that Annersley were alive, could know of his success--Pete had +done pretty well for a lad of sixteen--and that they could talk +together as in the old days. He rose presently and entered the +abandoned cabin. The afternoon sunlight flickered palely through the +dusty windows. Several window-panes had been broken out, but the one +marked with two bullet holes, radiating tiny cracks in the glass, was +still there. The oilcloth on the table was torn and soiled. The mud +of wet weather had been tracked about the floor. The stove was rusted +and cracked. Pete wondered why men must invariably abuse things that +were patently useful, when those things did not belong to any one +especially; for the stove, the windows, the table, the two home-made +chairs showed more than disuse. They had been wantonly broken, hacked, +or battered. Some one had pried the damper from the stove, broken it +in two, and had used half of it for a lid-lifter. A door had been torn +from the wall-cupboard and split into kindling, as a few painted +splinters attested. And some one had shot several holes in the door, +evidently endeavoring to make the initial "T" with a forty-five. An +old pair of discarded overalls lay in one corner, a worn and useless +glove in another. Pete was glad that Annersley would never know of all +this--and yet it seemed as though Annersley _could_ see these +things--and Pete, standing alone in the room, felt as though he were in +some way to blame for this disorder and squalidness. Time and +occupation had rather dulled Pete's remembrance of the actual detail of +the place, but now its original neatness and orderliness came back to +him vividly. + +He was mentally rehabilitating the cabin when a boot-heel crunched on +the ground outside and Andy appeared in the doorway. "The T-Bar-T boys +are comin'. Seen 'em driftin' down the Ranger Trail." + +"They was to be here this mornin'," said Pete. "Reckon they aim to +bush here all night and ride to-morrow. Hope they brought some grub +along." + +"We got plenty. Come on outside. This here ole room kind o' gits on +my nerves." + +Pete strode out. They stood watching the approaching riders. Suddenly +Andy White touched Pete's arm. "One of 'em is Gary!" he said, speaking +low. + +Pete stopped and, picking up a clod, jerked it toward a fence-post. +The clod happened to hit the post and was flicked into dust. "That for +Gary," said Pete. + +Andy grinned, but his eyes were grave. "We'll be right busy," he said +in a sort of tentative way. + +Pete nodded and hitched up his chaps. One of the approaching horsemen +waved a hand. Andy acknowledged the salute. + +The T-Bar-T men rode in and dismounted. "Where's Bailey?" was Gary's +first word. + +"Jim sent us to fix up that line with you," replied Andy. "He's over +to Enright." + +Gary glanced at Pete, who stared at him, but made no gesture of +greeting. But Pete had read Gary's unspoken thought. "Bailey had sent +a couple of kids over to the Blue to help survey the line." And Pete +did not intend to let Gary "get by" with the idea that his attitude was +not understood. + +"Where's Houck?" asked Pete, naming the foreman of the T-Bar-T. + +Cotton, Gary's companion, a light-haired, amiable but rather dull +youth, stated that Houck was over to the ranch. + +"I reckoned he'd come hisself," said Pete. "He knows this country +better 'n most." + +"Oh, I dunno," sneered Gary. "Some of us been here before." + +"They wasn't no line then," said Pete quietly, "but they's goin' to be +one." + +"You makin' it?" queried Gary. + +Pete smiled. "I was sent over here with Andy to do that same thing. +But you're sure welcome to hand out any idees you got, seein' your +fo'man ain't here." + +Andy, who saw the inevitable end of this kind of talk, nudged Pete. +"Let's eat," he said. "I reckon we're all willin'." + +Gary, like most of his type, was always anticipating an insult, +possibly because his general attitude toward humanity was deliberately +intended to provoke argument and recrimination. He was naturally +quarrelsome--and a bully because of his unquestioned physical courage. +He was popular in a way with those of his fellows who looked upon a +gunman--a killer--as a kind of hero. The foreman of the T-Bar-T found +him valuable as a sort of animate scarecrow. Gary's mere presence +often served to turn the balance when the T-Bar-T riders had occasion +to substantiate a bluff or settle a dispute with some other outfit +riding the high country. And because Gary imagined that Bailey of the +Concho had deliberately sent such youngsters as Andy White and Young +Pete to the Blue Mesa to settle the matter of a boundary line, Gary +felt insulted. He was too narrow-minded to reason that Bailey could +hardly know whom Houck of the T-Bar-T would send. Gary's ill-humor was +not improved by the presence of Young Pete nor by Pete's pugnacious +attitude. Strangely enough, Gary was nervous because he knew that +Young Pete was not afraid of him. + +Andy White was keenly aware of this, and found occasion that evening in +Gary's temporary absence to caution Pete, who immediately called +attention to the fact that they had all hung up their guns except Gary. + +"All the better!" asserted Andy. "That lets you out if he was to start +something." + +"Yes. And it mebby might let me out for good, Andy. Gary is jest the +kind to shoot a man down without givin' him a chanct. It ain't like +Gary was scared of me--but he's scared of what I know. I hung up my +gun 'cause I told Jim I wouldn't set to lookin' for a scrap with Gary, +or any man. Gary ain't got sand enough to do the same. But there +won't be no fuss. I reckon he dassent draw on me with you two fellas +here. Where 'd he and Cotton go, anyhow?" + +"I dunno, Pete. They moseyed out without sayin' anything." + +"Looks like Gary wanted to put Cotton wise." + +"Well, if anything starts, I'll sure keep my eye on that Cotton +hombre," said Andy. + +"He's easy--and slow," stated Pete. "He ain't got a fightin' eye." + +"Here they come," whispered Andy. "I kin hear 'em talkin'." + +Pete immediately began to whistle. Andy rose and poked a stick of wood +in the stove. "She's right cool up here," he remarked. + +"We been kind o' sizin' up things," stated Cotton as Gary and he +entered the cabin; an excuse for their absence that was unnecessary and +obviously manufactured. + +Pete smiled. "I got 'em sized up. Never did cotton to workin' in the +dark." + +Gary paused in the act of unsnapping his chaps. + +He was about to say something when Andy White interrupted by suggesting +that they turn in early and rise early that they might get the work +done in daylight and not have to spend another night at the cabin. + +Gary dragged an old mattress from the bedroom and, dropping it beneath +the window, spread his blanket, rolled up in it, and at Cotton's query +as to sharing half of the mattress told Cotton to "sleep where he dam' +pleased." + +"He's a friendly cuss, ain't he?" remarked Pete. + +"Who?" asked Gary, half-rising. + +"Why, Cotton, there," replied Pete. "You didn't think I was meanin' +you, did you?" + +Andy nudged Pete in the dark. "All right," said Pete, ignoring Andy's +meaning. "You git your blanket and we'll bush outside." + +They spread their blankets under a cedar, some distance from the cabin, +and lay gazing at the stars. + +Presently Andy turned to Pete. "Pete," he said gravely, "you're +walkin' right into trouble. Every time Gary starts to lope, you rein +him up mighty short. He's fightin' the bit, and first thing you know--" + +"I'll git pitched, eh? Well, mebby you're right. I done told Bailey +that if I ever did meet Steve Gary I would leave him do the talking but +I sure can't stand for his line o' talk. He's plumb mean." + +"I'll be mighty glad when we git through with this job," said Andy. + +"Shucks! It won't take three hours! I know every tree and stump on +this flat. We'll be driftin' home 'long about four to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE OPEN HOLSTER + +If there ever was a morning calculated to inspire good-will and +heartiness in a human being it was that morning. The dawn came +swiftly, battering through a fleece of clouds and painting the Blue +Mesa in all the gorgeous and utterly indescribable colors of an Arizona +sunrise. The air was crisp and so clear that it seemed to sparkle, +like water. Andy White whistled as he gathered up the blankets and +plodded toward the cabin. Pete felt like whistling, but for some +reason he was silent. He followed Andy to the cabin and saw that the +cowboy Cotton was making coffee. + +"All we got is cold grub," stated Pete, "but we got plenty for +everybody." + +"We fetched some coffee and bacon," said Cotton. But he did not invite +them to eat. + +Pete glanced at Andy. Evidently Cotton had had his instructions or was +afraid to make any friendly overtures. Gary was still lying on the +mattress by the window, apparently asleep. + +Pete stepped to where his own gun hung and buckled it on. "Let's mosey +over to the spring and wash," he suggested to Andy. "I ain't no dude, +but I kind o' like to wash before I eat." + +"Here, too," said Andy. "Mebby we can locate the horses on the way." + +When they returned to the cabin, Gary and Cotton were eating breakfast. +Pete flung a pair of broken hobbles on the floor. "Somebody's cayuse +got rid of these," he stated casually. He knew that they had been on +Gary's horse, as he had seen Gary hobble him. Pete turned and strode +out. Andy was unwrapping their lunch. Presently Gary and Cotton +appeared and picked up their ropes. Andy White, who had seen his own +easily caught pony, graciously offered the use of it in hunting the +strayed horse, but Gary declined the offer gruffly. + +"He's so doggone mean his face hurts him," stated Pete, as Gary and +Cotton set off together. + +"We'll lose some time if his hoss has lit out for home," said Andy. + +"Gary's doin' all he kin to make a job of it," declared Pete. "But I +don't wait for him. Soon's we finish eatin' I'm goin' to locate Blue +Smoke and git to work. We kin run that line without any help from +them. Let 'em walk till they're tired." + +"And what do you think of a couple of punchers--_punchers_, mind +you--that sit down and eat bacon and drink coffee and don't as much as +say 'come in'?" + +"I don't waste time thinkin' about such, Andy. You finish up the grub. +I got all I want." + +"Shucks! This ain't all. We ain't touched the grub in your +saddle-pockets yet. Ma Bailey sure fixed us up right." + +"That'll do for noon," said Pete. "I'll run your hoss in, when I git +Blue Smoke. Your hoss'll follow, anyway." + +"Jest a minute till I git my rope." + +"Nope, you stay here. That Blue Smoke hoss knows me. If he spots two +of us comin' he's like to git excited and mebby bust his hobbles and +light out. I'll ketch him all right." + +"Jest as you say, Pete." + +The sun was warming the air and it was pleasant to sit and watch the +light clouds trail along the far horizon. Andy leaned back against the +cedar and rolled a cigarette. He grinned as he recalled how Pete had +called Gary at every turn, and yet had given the other no chance to +find excuse for a quarrel. Pete was certainly "a cool hand--for a +kid." White, several years Pete's senior, always thought of him as not +much more than a boy. + +Meanwhile Pete, who knew every foot of ground on the homestead, trailed +through the scrub toward the spring. Down an occasional opening he +could see the distant forest that edged the mesa, and once he thought +he saw a horse's head behind a bush, but it turned out to be the stub +of a fallen tree. The brush hid the cabin as he worked toward the +timber. Presently he discovered Blue Smoke's tracks and followed them +down into a shallow hollow where the brush was thick. He wound in and +out, keeping the tracks in sight and casually noting where the horse +had stopped to graze. Near the bottom of the hollow he heard voices. +He had been so intent on tracking the horse that he had forgotten Gary +and Cotton. The tracks led toward the voices. Pete instinctively +paused and listened, then shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward. +A thick partition of brush separated him from the unseen speaker. Pete +stopped midway in his stride. + +"If you squat down here you can see the winder, right under this bush. +The moon was shinin'. It was a plumb easy shot. And it sure stopped +homesteadin' in this end of the country." + +Gary was speaking. Pete drew a step nearer. + +"You ain't sayin' who fired that shot,"--and Cotton laughed +obsequiously. + +Pete stepped from behind the bush. Gary was facing toward the cabin. +Cotton was squatting near by smoking a cigarette. + +"Tell him," said Pete. "I want to know myself." + +"What's it to you?" snarled Gary, and he stepped back. Gary's very +attitude was a challenge. Pete knew that he could not drop his rope +and pull his own gun quick enough to save himself. He saw Gary's hand +move almost imperceptibly toward his holster. + +"I reckon I made a mistake," said Pete slowly--and he let the rope slip +from his hand as though utterly unnerved. "I--I talked kind o' quick," +he stammered. + +"Well, you won't make no more mistakes," sneered Gary, and he dropped +his hand to his gun. "You want to know who plugged that old +hoss-thief, Annersley, eh? Well, what you goin' to say when I tell you +it was me?" + +Pete saw that Gary was working himself up to the pitch when he would +kill. And Pete knew that he had but one chance in a thousand of +breaking even with the killer. He would not have time to draw--but +Montoya had taught him the trick of shooting through the open +holster . . . Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun as +the holster tilted up. Pete fired twice. Staring as though +hypnotized, Gary clutched at his shirt over his chest with his free +hand. He gave at the knees and his body wilted and settled down--even +as he threw a desperate shot at Pete in a last venomous effort to kill. + +[Illustration: Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun as +the holster tilted up.] + +"You seen it was an even break," said Pete, turning to Cotton, who +immediately sank to his knees and implored Pete not to kill him. + +"But I reckon you'd lie, anyhow," continued Pete, paying no attention +to the other's mouthings. "Hunt your cayuse--and git a-movin'." + +Cotton understood that. Glancing over his shoulder at Gary he turned +and ran toward the timber. Pete stepped to the crumpled figure and +gazed at the bubbling hole in the chest. Then he stepped hack and +mechanically holstered his gun which he had pulled as he spoke to +Cotton. "They'll git me for this," he whispered to himself. "It was +an even break--but they'll git me." Pete fought back his fear with a +peculiar pride--the pride that scorned to appear frightened before his +chum, Andy White. The quarrel had occurred so unexpectedly and +terminated so suddenly, that Pete could not yet realize the full extent +of the tragedy. While quite conscious of what he was doing and +intended to do, he felt as though he were walking in a horrible dream +from which he would never awaken. His instincts were as keen as +ever--for he was already planning his next move--but his sensibilities +had suffered a blunt shock--were numb to all external influence. He +knew that the sun was shining, yet he did not feel its warmth. He was +walking toward the cabin, and toward Andy. He stumbled as he walked, +taking no account of the irregularities of the ground. He could hardly +believe that he had killed Gary. To convince himself against his own +will he mechanically drew his gun and glanced at the two empty shells. +"Three and two is five," he muttered. "I shot twict." He did not +realize that Gary had shot at him--that a shred of his flannel shirt +was dangling from his sleeve where Gary's bullet had cut it. "Wonder +if Andy heard?" he kept asking himself. "I got to tell Andy." + +Almost before he realized it he was standing under the cedar and Andy +was speaking. "Thought I heard some one shoot, over toward the woods." + +As Pete did not answer, Andy thought that the horse had got away from +him. "Did you get him?" he queried. + +Pete nodded dully. "I got him. He's over there--in the brush." + +"Why didn't you fetch him in? Did he get the best of you? You look +like he give you a tussle." + +"I got him--twict," said Pete. + +"Twict? Say, Pete, are you loco? What's ailin' you, anyhow?" + +"Nothin'. Me and Gary just had it out. He's over there--in the brush." + +"Gary!" + +"Yes. I reckon I got him." + +"Hell!" The ruddy color sank from Andy's face. He had supposed that +Gary and Cotton were by this time tracking the strayed horses toward +the T-Bar-T. "Where's Cotton?" he asked. + +"I told him to fan it." + +"But, Pete--!" + +"I know. They's no use talkin', Andy. I come back to tell you--and to +git your rope. Mine's over by Gary." + +"What you goin' to do, Pete?" + +"Me? Why, I'm goin' to drift as soon as I can git a saddle on Blue. +Cotton he seen the shootin'--but that don't do me no good. He'll swear +that I pulled first. He'd say 'most anything--he was too scared to +know what come off. Gary's hand was on his gun when I let him have +it--twict." + +Andy noticed then Pete's torn sleeve. "I reckon that's right. Look at +that!" + +Pete turned his head and glanced at his sleeve. "Never knowed he +shot--it was all done so quick." He seemed to awaken suddenly to the +significance of his position. "I'll take your rope and go git Smoke. +Then I'm goin' to drift." + +"But where?" + +"You're my pardner, Andy, but I ain't sayin'. Then you won't have to +lie. You'll have to tell Jim--and tell him it was like I said--_if +Gary come at me, that would be different_. I'm leavin' it to you to +square me with Jim Bailey." Pete picked up the rope and started toward +the spring. + +"I'm goin' with you," said White, "and ketch my hoss. I aim to see you +through with this." + +In an hour they were back at the cabin with the horses. Andy White +glanced at his watch. "Cotton is afoot--for I seen his hoss over +there. But he can make it to the T-Bar-T in three hours. That'll give +us a start of two hours, anyhow. I don't know which way you aim to +ride, but--" + +"I'm playin' this hand alone," stated Pete as he saddled Blue Smoke. +"No use your gittin' in bad." + +White made no comment, but cinched up his pony. Pete stepped to him +and held out his hand. "So-long, Andy. You been a mighty square +pardner." + +"Nothin' doin'!" exclaimed Andy. "I'm with you to the finish." + +"Nope, Andy. If we was both to light out, you'd be in it as bad as me." + +"Then what do you say if we both ride down to Concho and report to the +sheriff?" + +"I tried that onct--when they killed Pop Annersley. I know how that +would work." + +"But what you goin' to do?" + +"I'm ridin'," and Pete swung to his horse. Blue Smoke pitched across +the clearing under the spur and rein that finally turned him toward the +south. Pete's sombrero flew off as he headed for the timber. Andy, +reining 'round his horse, that fretted to follow, swung down and caught +up Pete's hat on the run. Pete had pulled up near the edge of the +timber. Andy, as he was about to give Pete his hat, suddenly changed +it for his own. "For luck!" he cried, as Pete slackened rein and Blue +Smoke shot down the dim forest trail. + +Pete, perhaps influenced by Montoya's example, always wore a +high-crowned black sombrero. Andy's hat was the usual gray. In the +excitement of leaving, Pete had not thought of that; but as he rode, he +suspected Andy's motive, and glanced back. But Andy was not following, +or if he were, he was riding slowly. + +Meanwhile Andy cheerfully put himself in the way of assisting Pete to +escape. He knew the country and thought he knew where Pete was headed +for. Before nightfall a posse would be riding the high country hunting +the slayer of Gary. They would look for a cowboy wearing a black +sombrero. Realizing the risk that he ran, and yet as careless of that +risk as though he rode to a fiesta, Young Andy deliberately turned back +to where Gary lay--he had not yet been to that spot--and, dismounting, +picked up Pete's rope. He glanced at Gary, shivered, and swung to his +horse. Riding so that his trail would be easy to read he set off +toward the open country, east. The fact that he had no food with him, +and that the country was arid and that water was scarce, did not +trouble him. All he hoped for was to delay or mislead the posse long +enough to enable Pete to reach the southern desert. There Pete might +have one chance in twenty of making his final escape. Perhaps it was a +foolish thing to do, but Andy White, inspired by a motive of which +there is no finer, did not stop to reason about it. "He that giveth +his life for a friend . . ." Andy knew nothing of such a quotation. +He was riding into the desert, quite conscious of the natural hazards +of the trail, and keen to the possibilities that might follow in the +form of an excited posse not too discriminating, in their eagerness to +capture an outlaw, yet he rode with a light heart. After all, Pete was +not guilty of murder. He had but defended his own life. Andy's heart +was light because of the tang of adventure, and a certain appreciation +of what a disappointed posse might feel and express--and because +Romance ran lightly beside him, heartening him on his way; Romance, +whose ears are deaf to all moral considerations and whose eyes see only +the true adventurer, be he priest or pirate; Romance whose eyes are +blind to those who fear to dare. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A FALSE TRAIL + +"Sure he's dead!" reiterated Cotton. "Didn't I see them two holes +plumb through him and the blood soakin' his shirt when I turned him +over? If I'd 'a' had my gun on me that Young Pete would be right side +of Steve, right now! But I couldn't do nothin' without a gun. Pete +Annersley was plumb scared. That's why he killed Steve. Jest you +gimme a gun and watch me ride him down! I aim to settle with that Jay." + +Cotton was talking to Houck of the T-Bar-T, blending fact and fiction +in a blustering attempt to make himself believe he had played the man. +During his long, foot-weary journey to the ranch he had roughly +invented this speech and tried to memorize it. Through repetition he +came to believe that he was telling the truth. Incidentally he had not +paused to catch up his horse, which was a slight oversight, considering +the trail from the Blue to his home ranch. + +"What's the matter with the gun you're packin'?" asked Houck. + +Cotton had forgotten his own gun. + +"I--it was like this, Bill. After Young Pete killed Gary, I went back +to the shack and got my gun. At first, Andy White wasn't goin' to +leave me have it--but I tells him to fan it. I reckon he's pretty nigh +home by now." + +"Thought you said you didn't see White after the shooting--that he +forked his horse and rode for the Concho? Cotton, you're lyin' so fast +you're like to choke." + +"Honest, Bill! If I'd 'a' had my gun . . ." + +"Oh, hell! Don't try to swing that bluff. Where's your horse?" + +"I couldn't ketch him, honest." + +"Thought you said you caught him in the brush and tied him to a tree +and Young Annersley threatened to kill you if you went for your saddle." + +"That's right--honest, Bill, that's what he said." + +"Then how is it that Bobby Lent caught your horse strayin' in more 'n a +hour ago? Dam' if I believe a word you say. You're plumb crazy." + +"Honest, Bill. I hope to die if Steve Gary ain't layin' over there +with two holes in him. He's sure dead. Do you think I footed it all +the way jest because I like walkin'?" + +Houck frowned and shook his head. "You say him and Young Pete had come +to words?" + +"Yep; about ole man Annersley. Steve was tellin' me about the raid +when Pete steps up and tells him to say it over ag'in. Steve started +to talk when Pete cuts down on him--twict. My God, he was quick! I +never even seen him draw." + +"Did Gary say _he_ was the one that plugged Annersley?" + +"Yep. Said he did it--and asked Pete what he was goin' to do about it." + +"Then Steve was drunk or crazy. You go git a horse and burn the trail +to Concho. Tell Sutton that Young Pete Annersley killed Gary, up to +the Blue Mesa. Tell him we're out after Young Pete. Can you git that +straight?" + +"What if the sheriff was to pinch me for bein' in that scrap?" + +"You! In a gun-fight? No. He wouldn't believe that if you told him +so. You jest tell Sutton what I said, and git goin'! Don't lie to +him--or he'll spot it and pinch you dam' quick." + +With Cotton gone, Houck saddled up and rode out to where one of his men +was mending fence. "Take your horse and git all the boys you can reach +before night. Young Pete Annersley shot Steve over to the Blue this +mornin'." + +The cowboy, unlike Cotton, whistled his surprise, dropped his tools, +mounted, and was off before Houck had reined back toward the +ranch-house. + +It was near twelve that night when a quiet band of riders dismounted at +the Annersley cabin, separated, and trailed off in the darkness to look +for Gary. One of them found him where he had fallen and signaled with +his gun. They carried Gary to the cabin. In the flickering light of +the open stove they saw that he was still alive. There was one chance +in a thousand that he could recover. They washed his wounds and one of +the men set out toward Concho, to telephone to Enright for a doctor. +The rest grouped around the stove and talked in low tones, waiting for +daylight. "Chances are the kid went south," said Houck, half to +himself. + +"How about young White?" queried a cowboy. + +"I dunno. Either he rode with Pete Annersley or he's back at the +Concho. Daylight'll tell." + +"If Steve could talk--" said the cowboy. + +"I guess Steve is done for," said Houck. "I knew Young Pete was a +tough kid--but I didn't figure he'd try to down Steve." + +"Supposin' they both had a hand in it--White and Young Pete?" + +Houck shook his head. "Anybody got any whiskey?" he asked. + +Some one produced a flask. Houck knelt and raised Gary's head, tilting +the flask carefully. Presently Gary's lips moved and his chest heaved. + +"Who was it? White?" questioned Houck. + +Gary moved his head in the negative. + +"Young Pete?" Gary's white lips shaped to a faint whisper--"Yes." + +One of the men folded a slicker and put it under Gary's head. + +Houck stood up. "I guess it's up to us to get Pete Annersley." + +"You can count me out," said a cowboy immediately. "Steve was allus +huntin' trouble and it looks like he found it this trip. They's plenty +without me to ride down the kid. Young Pete may be bad--but I figure +he had a dam' good excuse when he plugged Steve, here. You can count +me out." + +"And me," said another. "If young Pete was a growed man--" + +"Same here," interrupted the third. "Any kid that's got nerve enough +to down Steve has got a right to git away with it. If you corner him +he's goin' to fight--and git bumped off by a bunch of growed men--mebby +four to one. That ain't my style." + +Houck turned to several cowboys who had not spoken. They were Gary's +friends, of his kind--in a measure. "How is it, boys?" asked Houck. + +"We stick," said one, and the others nodded. + +"Then you boys"--and Houck indicated the first group--"can ride back to +the ranch. Or, here, Larkin, you can stay with Steve till the doc +shows up. The rest of you can drift." + +Without waiting for dawn the men who had refused to go out after Pete +rode back along the hill-trail to the ranch. But before they left, +Houck took what hastily packed food they had and distributed it among +the posse, who packed it in their saddle-pockets. The remaining +cowboys lay down for a brief sleep. They were up at dawn, and after a +hasty breakfast set out looking for tracks. Houck himself discovered +Andy White's tracks leading from the spot where Gary had been found, +and calling the others together, set off across the eastern mesa. + +Meanwhile Andy White was sleeping soundly in a coulee many miles from +the homestead, and just within sight of a desert ranch, to which he had +planned to ride at daybreak, ask for food and depart, leaving the +impression that he was Pete Annersley in haste to get beyond the reach +of the law. He had stopped at the coulee because he had found grass +and water for his horse and because he did not want to risk being found +at the ranch-house. A posse would naturally head for the ranch to +search and ask questions. Fed and housed he might oversleep and be +caught. Then his service to Pete would amount to little. But if he +rode in at daybreak, ahead of the posse, ate and departed, leaving a +hint as to his assumed identity, he could mislead them a day longer at +least. He built all his reasoning on the hope that the posse would +find and follow his tracks. + +Under the silent stars he slept, his head on his saddle, and near him +lay Pete's black sombrero. + +In the disillusioning light of morning, that which Andy had taken to be +a ranch-house dwindled to a goat-herder's shack fronted by a +brush-roofed lean-to. Near it was a diminutive corral and a sun-faded +tent. The old Indian herder seemed in no way surprised to see a young +rider dismount and approach cautiously--for Andy had entered into the +spirit of the thing. He paused to glance apprehensively back and +survey the western horizon. Andy greeted the Indian, who grunted his +acknowledgment in the patois of the plains. + +"Any vaqueros ride by here this morning?" queried Andy. + +The herder shook his head. + +"Well, I guess I got time to eat," said Andy. + +A faint twinkle touched the old Indian's eyes, but his face was as +expressionless as a dried apple. + +"Si," he said. + +"But not a whole lot of time," asserted Andy. + +The Indian rose and fetched a pail of goat's milk and some tortillas +from the shack. He shuffled back to his hermitage and reappeared with +a tin cup. Andy, who meanwhile had consumed one leathery tortilla, +shook his head. "Never mind the cup, amigo." He tilted the pail and +drank--paused for breath, and drank again. He set the pail down empty. +"I was some dry," he said, smiling. "Got any more of these rawhide +flapjacks?" + +The herder nodded, stooped to enter the shack, and came out with a +half-dozen of the tortillas, which Andy rolled and stuffed in his +saddle-pocket. "Mighty good trail bread!" he said enthusiastically. +"You can't wear 'em out." + +Again the herder nodded, covertly studying this young rider who did not +look like an outlaw, whose eye was clear and untroubled. Well, what +did it matter?--a man must eat. + +The old Indian had given unquestioningly from his poverty, with the +simple dignity of true hospitality. As for who this stranger was, of +what he had done--that was none of his affair. A man must eat. + +"I'm payin' for this,"--and Andy proffered a silver dollar. + +The other turned the piece round in his fingers as though hesitating to +accept it. + +"Si. But has not the señor some little money?" + +"That's all right, amigo. Keep it." + +The herder shook his head, and held up two fingers. Andy smiled. "I +get you! You don't aim to bank all your wealth in one lump. Lemme +see? All I got left is a couple of two-bit pieces. Want 'em?" The +herder nodded and took the two coins and handed back the dollar. Then +he padded stolidly to the shack and reappeared, bearing a purple velvet +jacket which was ornamented with buttons made from silver quarters. He +held it up, indicating that two of the buttons were missing. +"Muchacha," he grunted, pointing toward the south. + +"I get you. Your girl is out looking after the goats, and you aim to +kind of surprise her with a full set of buttons when she gets back. +She'll ask you right quick where you got 'em, eh?" + +A faint grin touched the old Indian's mouth. The young vaquero was of +the country. He understood. + +"Well, it beats me," said Andy. "Now, a white man is all for the big +money. He'd take the dollar, get it changed, and be two-bits ahead, +every time. But I got to drift along. Say, amigo, if any of my +friends come a-boilin down this way, jest tell 'em that Pete--that's +me--was in a hurry, and headed east. Sabe?" + +"Si." + +"Pete--with the black sombrero." Andy touched his hat. + +"Si. 'Pete.'" + +"Adios. Wisht I could take a goat along. That milk was sure +comfortin'." + +The herder watched Andy mount and ride away. Then he plodded back to +the shack and busied himself patiently soldering tiny rings on the +silver pieces, that the set of buttons for his daughter's jacket might +be complete. He knew that the young stranger must be a fugitive, +otherwise he would not have ridden into the desert so hurriedly. He +had not inquired about water, nor as to feed for his horse. Truly he +was in great haste! + +Life meant but three things to the old Indian. Food, sleep, and +physical freedom. He had once been in jail and had suffered as only +those used to the open sky suffer when imprisoned. The young vaquero +had eaten, and had food with him. His eyes had shown that he was not +in need of sleep. Yet he had all but said there would be men looking +for him. + +The old Indian rose and picked up a blanket. In the doorway he paused, +surveying the western horizon. Satisfied that no one was in sight, he +padded out to where Andy had tied his horse and swept the blanket +across the tracks in the loose sand. Walking backwards he drew the +blanket after him, obliterating the hoof-prints until he came to a rise +where the ground was rocky. Without haste he returned and squatted in +the shack. He was patiently working on a silver piece when some one +called out peremptorily. + +The old Indian's face was expressionless as he nodded to the posse of +cowboys. + +"Seen anything of a young fella ridin' a blue roan and sportin' a black +hat?" asked Houck. + +The Indian shook his head. + +"He's lyin'," asserted a cowboy. "Comes as natural as breathin' to +him. We trailed a hoss to this here wickiup"--the hot lust of the +man-hunt was in the cowboy's eyes as he swung down--"and we aim to see +who was ridin' him!" + +Houck and his three companions sat their horses as the fourth member of +the posse shouldered the old Indian aside and entered the shack. +"Nothin' in there," he said, as he reappeared, "but somebody's been +here this mornin'." And he pointed to the imprint of a high-heeled +boot in the sand of the yard. + +"Which way did he ride?" asked Houck, indicating the footprint. + +The old herder shook his head. "Quien sabe?" he grunted, shrugging his +shoulders. + +"Who knows, eh? Well, you know--for one. And you're goin' to say--or +there'll be a heap big bonfire right here where your shack is." + +Meanwhile one of the men, who had pushed out into the desert and was +riding in a circle, hallooed and waved his arm. + +"He headed this way," he called. "Some one dragged a blanket over his +trail." + +The cowboy who was afoot strode up to the herder. "We'll learn you to +play hoss with this outfit!" He swung his quirt and struck the Indian +across the face. The old Indian stepped back and stiffened. His +sunken eyes blazed with hatred, but he made no sound or sign. He knew +that if he as much as lifted his hand the men would kill him. To him +they were the law, searching for a fugitive. The welt across his face +burned like the sear of fire--the cowardly brand of hatred on the +impassive face of primitive fortitude! This because he had fed a +hungry man and delayed his pursuers. + +Long after the posse had disappeared down the far reaches of the +desert, the old Indian stood gazing toward the east, vaguely wondering +what would have happened to him had he struck a white man across the +face with a quirt. He would have been shot down--and his slayer would +have gone unpunished. He shook his head, unable to understand the +white man's law. His primitive soul knew a better law, "an eye for an +eye and a tooth for a tooth," a law that knew no caste and was as old +as the sun-swept spaces of his native land. He was glad that his +daughter had not been there. The white men might have threatened and +insulted her. If they had . . . The old herder padded to his shack +and squatted down, to finish soldering the tiny rings on the buttons +for his daughter's jacket. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE BLACK SOMBRERO + +When Andy had ridden far enough to feel secure in turning and riding +north--in fact, his plan was to work back to the Concho in a wide +circle--he reined in and dismounted. From a low ridge he surveyed the +western desert, approximated his bearings, and had his foot in the +stirrup when he saw four tiny dots that bobbed up and down on the +distant sky-line of the west. He had left an easy trail to follow and +the pursuers were riding hard. They were still a long distance from +him. He led his horse down the far side of the ridge and mounted. He +rode straight east for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then he turned and +at right angles to his trail sped north behind the long, low, sandy +ridge. He could not be seen until the posse had topped it--and even +then it was probable they would fling down the slope, following his +tracks until they came to where he had turned. Straight ahead of him +the ridge swung to the left. In half an hour or so he would again +cross it, which he hoped to do before he was discovered. Once over the +ridge, he would head for the Concho. To follow him would mean that his +pursuers would be riding directly away from Pete's trail. Many long +desert miles lay between Andy and the Concho, but he argued that his +horse was as fresh as the horses of his pursuers. He would give them a +good run. If they overtook him before they reached the ranch, the most +they could do would be to curse him for misleading them. He reasoned +that the posse was from the T-Bar-T--that at best the sheriff could not +have been advised of the shooting in time to join them. They would +have no official right to detain him or interfere with his +progress--once they knew who he was. + +A trot, a lope, then back to a swinging trot again--and as yet no +riders had appeared on the hills. Andy was making good time. The +crest of the ridge shimmered in the noon sun. At this pace he would be +over and down the western side before they saw him. + +When the posse finally caught sight of the man they were after far out +across the level and riding toward the west, they knew at once that he +was making for the Concho and what protection his fellows might afford +him under the circumstances. This did not fit into their scheme. The +man-hunt had tuned their pulses to a high pitch. They wanted to lay +hands on Gary's slayer--to disarm him and bring him into the town of +Concho themselves--or, if he showed fight, to "get" him. They forgot +that he was little more than a boy. He was an enemy--and potently +dangerous. + +"It's Young Pete," said a cowboy. "I know him by that black hat." + +Plying quirt and spur the posse flung down the ridge and out across the +plain below. They would ride their quarry down before he reached the +boundary of the Concho--before he got among his friends. + +Andy turned and glanced back. They were gaining on him. He knew that +his own horse was doing his best. Again he glanced back. The riders +were forcing their horses to a terrific pace that could not last long. +In a mile or so they would be close enough to use their rifles. But +the harder they rode the better Andy liked it. They would be in sorry +shape to make the long ride south after Pete, when they realized that +they were chasing the wrong man. If he could get out of it without +getting shot, he would consider himself lucky. Ahead of him lay a flat +of brushless land offering no shelter. He hoped that his horse would +not be killed by a chance shot. In that event his pride would force +him to retaliate, until he was either killed or captured. He had about +made up his mind to rein up and surrender when he heard the singing +_whizz-zip_ of a bullet that sprayed sand ahead of him. Then came the +faint _pop_ of a rifle far behind. He pulled up, swiftly unbuckled his +belt, and hung his gun on the saddle-horn. Then he stepped away from +his horse--an unconsciously fine thing to do--and turned toward the +distant posse. Again came that shrill, sinister _whizz-zip_ and he was +standing bareheaded in the glaring sun as the black sombrero spun round +and settled lightly in the sand beside him. He wisely thrust up his +hands--arguing that if the posse could see to shoot with such accuracy +they could see and possibly appreciate his attitude. He felt outraged, +and wanted to fight. He did not realize at the moment that his +pursuers were acting in good faith according to their viewpoint. + +Meanwhile they flung toward him, spreading out fanwise in case of some +possible treachery. Without moving a muscle Andy stood with his hands +raised, blinkingly trying to identify each individual rider. + +There was Houck on his big gray cow-horse. To the left rode Simpson, +known all over the range as Gary's close friend. Andy half-expected to +see Cotton with the posse, but Cotton was not there. He did not +recognize the two riders on the wings of the posse. + +"Mornin', fellas!" he called as the cowboys swept up. "What's the +idea?" + +"This!" snarled Simpson as he took out his rope. + +"Hold on!" cried Houck, dismounting and covering White. "This ain't +our man! It's young Andy White!" + +"You might 'a' found that out before you started shootin'," said Andy, +lowering his hands. "My gun's on the saddle there." + +Despite the fact that it was Andy White, Houck took no chances, but +searched him. Then, "what in hell was _your_ idea?" + +"Me? Why, I was ridin' to the Concho when one of you guys shot my hat +off. I reckoned it was about time to pull up." + +"Ridin' to the Concho, eh? I suppose you'll say next that you got lost +and thought the Concho was over this way?" + +"Nope. I was ridin' to the Concho to report the shootin' of Steve Gary +to my boss." + +Houck, who had imagined that White would disclaim any knowledge of the +shooting until forced to admit it, took a new tack. "Where's Pete +Annersley?" + +"That's jest what I was wonderin'. Last time I see him he was fannin' +it east. I took out after him--but I must 'a' missed him." + +"That'll do to tell the sheriff. We want to know what you know about +the shootin'-up of Steve." + +"Nothin'. I was over by the shack waiting for Pete when I thought I +heard a couple of shots. Didn't pay no attention to that--'cause Pete +was always poppin' his gun at somethin'. Then pretty soon Pete walks +in, and I go out with him and help him ketch his hoss. He don't say +much--and I don't. Then first thing I know he lights on that little +buckskin hoss of his--" + +"And forgets his hat," interrupted Houck. + +"Nope. He was wearin' a hat the last I seen of him." + +"And ridin' a buckskin cayuse, eh? Now Cotton says it was a blue roan." + +Andy laughed. "That hombre Cotton's got mighty poor eyesight. Why, he +couldn't see good enough to ketch up his own hoss. Pete told me Cotton +set out for home afoot. I didn't see him, but I'd take Pete's word +against Cotton's any time." + +"Mebby you think we're takin' your word about Young Pete--and the +shootin'?? + +"Why not?" + +"We can make you talk!" threatened Simpson. + +"I reckon you could," said Andy easily. "Four to one--and my gun +hangin' over there on the saddle-horn. But suppose you did? How are +you goin' to' know I'll talk straight or lie to you? You ain't throwed +any big scare into me yet"--and Andy stooped and caught up his hat and +thrust his finger through the hole in the crown--"because I ain't done +nothin' to be scared about. I ain't shot nobody and I ain't seen +nobody get shot. Cotton could 'a' told you that." + +"That's right," asserted Houck reluctantly. "White here had nothin' to +do with the shootin'. Cotton said that. We lost some time trailin' +you"--Houck turned to Andy--"but we don't aim to lose any more. Which +way did young Pete ride?" + +Andy laughed. "You would say I lied if I told you. But I'm goin' to +tell you straight. Young Pete took the old Ranger Trail south, through +the timber. And I want to tell you gentlemen he was goin' like hell +a-smokin' when I seen him last. Mebby you don't believe that? And +there's somethin' else--that old Ranger Trail forks three times this +side of Cienegas--and she forks twice afore she crosses the line. +She's a dim trail when she's doin' her best acrost the rocks, and +they's places in her where she's as blind as a dead ox. Water is as +scarce as cow-punchers at a camp-meetin' and they ain't no feed this +side of Showdown. And Showdown never tore its shirt tryin' to be +polite to strangers. I been there. 'Course, when it comes to rustlers +and cardsharps and killers--but you fellas know how that is. I--" + +"Come on, boys," said Houck, reining round. "White here is puttin' up +a talk to hold us--and Young Pete's usin' the time." + +Andy watched them ride away, a queer expression lighting his face. +"They hate like the Ole Scratch to believe me--and they are hatin' +themselves for havin' to." + +He pulled off Pete's hat and turned it over, gazing at the two little +round holes curiously. "Pete, old scout," he said, smiling +whimsically, "here's hopin' they never come closer to gettin' you than +they did to gettin' me. Keep a-ridin'--for you sure got to be that +'Ridin' Kid from Powder River' this journey--and then some." + +Andy turned the black sombrero round in his hands. "All this here +hocus comes of the killin' of a old man that never lifted a finger +against nobody--and as game a kid as ever raked a hoss with a spur. +But one killin' always means more. I ain't no gunman--or no killer. +But, by cracky! some of my ideas has changed since I got that hole in +my hat. I wisht I'd 'a' rode with Pete. I wouldn't ask nothin' better +right now than to stand back to back with him, out in the open +somewhere and let 'em come! Because why? Because the only law that a +man's got in this country is hisself--and if he's right, why, crossin' +over with his gun explainin' his idees ain't the worst way to go. +Anyhow, it ain't any worse than gettin' throwed from a bronc and +gettin' his neck broke or gettin' stomped out in a stampede. Them's +just regular, common ways of goin' out. I just wonder how Pete is +makin' it?" + +Andy put on his hat, glanced at the sun, and strode to his pony. Far +across the eastern desert he saw the posse--a mere moving dot against +the blue. "Wolf-hungry to make a killin' because they're foolin' +themselves that they're actin' out the law! Well, come on, Chico, old +hoss, we got to make home before sundown." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SPIDER + +Where the old Ranger Trail, crossing the Blue Mesa, leaves the high +mesa and meanders off into the desert, there is a fork which leads +southwest, to the Apache country--a grim and waterless land--and +finally swings south toward the border. Pete dismounted at this fork, +pulled up his slackened cinches, and making certain that he was leaving +a plain track, rode down the main trail for half a mile. Then he +reined his pony to a bare spot on the grass-dotted tufa, and again +dismounted. He looped Blue Smoke's fore feet, then threw him, and +pulled his shoes with a pair of wire nippers, and stowed the shoes in +his saddle-pockets. + +He again rode directly down the trail, surmising that the occasional +track of a barefoot horse would appear natural enough should the posse, +whom he knew would follow him, split up and ride both trails. Farther +on he again swung from the trail to the tufa, never slackening pace, +and rode across the broken ground for several miles. He had often seen +the unshod and unbranded ponies of the high country run along a trail +for a mile or so and then dash off across the open. Of course, if the +posse took the direct trail to the border, paying no attention to +tracks, they would eventually overtake him. Pete was done with the +companionship of men who allowed the wanton killing of a man like +Annersley to go unpunished. He knew that if he were caught, he would +most probably be hanged or imprisoned for the shooting of Gary--if he +were not killed in being taken. The T-Bar-T interests ruled the +courts. Moreover, his reputation was against him. Ever since the raid +on Annersley's place Pete had been pointed out as the "kid who stood +off the raiders and got two of them." And Pete knew that the very folk +who seemed proud of the fact would be the first to condemn him for the +killing of Gary. He was outlawed--not for avenging the death of his +foster-father, but actually because he had defended his own life, a +fact difficult to establish in court and which would weigh little +against the evidence of the six or eight men who had heard him +challenge Gary at the round-up. Jim Bailey had been right. Men talked +too much as a usual thing. Gary had talked too much. + +Pete realized that his loyalty to the memory of Annersley had earned +him disrepute. He resented the injustice of this, and all his old +hatred of the law revived. Yet despite all logic of justice as against +law--he could see Gary's hand clutching against his chest, his staring +eyes, and the red ooze starting through those tense fingers--Pete +reasoned that had he not been so skilled and quick with a gun, he would +be in Gary's place now. As it was, he was alive and had a good horse +between his knees. + +To ride an unshod horse in the southern desert is to invite disaster. +Toward evening, Pete pulled up at a water-hole, straightened the nails +in the horseshoes and tacked them on again with a piece of rock. They +would hold until he reached the desert town of Showdown--a place of +ill-repute and a rendezvous for outlawry and crime. + +He rode on until he came within sight of the town--a dim huddle of low +buildings in the starlight. He swung off the trail, hobbled his horse, +fastened his rope to the hobbles, and tied that in turn to a long, +heavy slab of rock, and turned in. He would not risk losing his horse +in this desert land. At best a posse could not reach Showdown before +noon the next day, and rather than blunder into Showdown at night and +take unnecessary risks, he decided to rest, and ride in at sunup, when +he would be able to see what he was doing and better estimate the +possibilities of getting food for himself and his horse and of finding +refuge in some out-of-the-way ranch or homestead. In spite of his +vivid imaginings he slept well. At dawn he caught up his pony and rode +into town. + +Showdown boasted some fifteen or eighteen low-roofed adobes, the most +pretentious being the saloon. These all faced a straggling road which +ran east and west, disappearing at either end of the town as though +anxious to obliterate itself in the clean sand of the desert. The +environs of Showdown were garnished with tin cans and trash, dirt and +desolation. Unlike the ordinary cow-town this place was not sprightly, +but morose, with an aspect of hating itself for existing. Even the +railroad swung many miles to the south as though anxious to leave the +town to its own pernicious isolation. + +The fixed population consisted of a few Mexicans and one white man, +known as "The Spider," who ran the saloon and consequently owned +Showdown body and--but Showdown had no soul. + +Men arrived and departed along the several desert trails that led in +and out of the town. These men seldom tarried long. And they usually +came alone, perchance from the Blue, the Gila, the T-Bar-T, or from +below the border, for their business was with the border rustlers and +parasites. Sheriffs of four counties seldom disturbed the place, +because a man who had got as far south as Showdown was pretty hard to +apprehend. From there to the border lay a trackless desert. Showdown +was a rendezvous for that inglorious legion, "The Men Who Can't Come +Back," renegades who when below the line worked machine guns for +whichever side of the argument promised the more loot. Horse- and +cattle-thieves, killers, escaped convicts, came and went--ominous birds +of passage, the scavengers of war and banditry. + +The Spider was lean, with legs warped by long years in the saddle. He +was called The Spider because of his physical attributes as well as +because of his attitude toward life. He never went anywhere, yet he +accumulated sustenance. He usually had a victim tangled in his web. +It was said that The Spider never let a wounded outlaw die for lack of +proper attention if he considered the outlaw worth saving--as an +investment. And possibly this was the secret of his power, for he was +ever ready to grub-stake or doctor any gentleman in need or wounded in +a desert affair--and he had had a large experience in caring for +gun-shot wounds. + +Pete, dismounting at the worn hitching-rail, entered the saloon, nodded +casually to The Spider, and called for a drink. The Spider, who always +officiated at the bar for politic reasons, aside from the selling of +liquor, noticed that the young stranger's eyes were clear and +steady--that he showed no trace of hard night-riding; yet he had +arrived in Showdown at sunup. As Pete drank, The Spider sized up his +horse--which looked fresh. He had already noticed that Pete's gun hung +well down and handy, and assumed correctly that it was not worn for +ornament. The Spider knew that the drink was a mere formality--that +the stranger was not a drinking man in the larger sense. + +Neither spoke until a Mexican, quite evidently in haste, rode up and +entered the saloon. The Mexican bore the strange news that four riders +were expected to reach Showdown that day--perhaps by noon. Then The +Spider spoke, and Pete was startled by the voice, which was pitched in +a high key yet was little more than a whisper. + +The Mexican began to expostulate shrilly. The Spider had cursed him +for a loud-mouthed fool. Again came that sinister whisper, like the +rush of a high wind in the reeds. The Mexican turned and silently left +the room. When Pete, who had pretended absorption in thought, glanced +up, the Spider's eyes were fixed on Pete's horse, which had swung +around as the Mexican departed. The Spider's deep-set eyes shifted to +Pete, who smiled. The Spider nodded. Interpreted this would have +read: "I see you ride a horse with the Concho brand." And Pete's eyes +had retorted: "I sure do. I was waiting for you to say that." + +Still The Spider had not addressed his new guest nor had Pete uttered a +word. It was a sort of cool, deliberate duel of will power. Pete +turned his head and surveyed the long room leisurely. The Spider +pushed the bottle toward him, silently inviting him to drink again. +Pete shook his head. The Spider hobbled from behind the bar and moving +quickly across the room flung open the back door, discovering a patio +set with tables and chairs. Pete nodded. + +They were establishing a tentative understanding without speech. The +test was hard for Pete. The Spider was uncanny--though quick of +movement and shifty of eye--intensely alive withal. + +As for The Spider himself, he was not displeased. This was but a +youth, yet a youth who was not unfamiliar with the fine points of a +rendezvous. The back door opened on a patio and the door in the wall +of the patio opened on a corral. The corral bars opened to the +desert--Pete had almost sensed that, without seeing farther than the +patio, and had nodded his approval, without speaking. The Spider +considered this highly commendable. + +Pete knew at a glance that The Spider was absolutely without +honor--that his soul was as crooked as his badly bowed legs; and that +he called no man friend and meant it. + +And The Spider knew, without other evidence than his own eyes found, +that this young stranger would not hesitate to kill him if sufficient +provocation offered. Nor did this displease the autocrat of Showdown +in the least. He was accustomed to dealing with such men. Yet one +thing bothered him. Had the stranger made a get-away that would bring +a posse to Showdown--as the Mexican had intimated? If so the sooner +the visitor left, the better. If he were merely some cowboy looking +for easy money and excitement, that was a different matter. Or perhaps +he had but stolen a horse, or butchered and sold beef that bore a +neighbor's brand. Yet there was something about Pete that impressed +The Spider more deeply than mere horse- or cattle-stealing could. The +youth's eye was not the eye of a thief. He had not come to Showdown to +consort with rustlers. He was somewhat of a puzzle--but The Spider, +true to his name, was silently patient. + +Meanwhile the desert sun rolled upward and onward, blazing down on the +huddled adobes, and slowly filtering into the room. With his back to +the bar, Pete idly flicked bits of a broken match at a knot-hole in the +floor. Tired of that, he rolled a cigarette with one hand, and +swiftly. Pete's hands were compact, of medium size, with the finger +joints lightly defined--the hands of a conjuror--or, as The Spider +thought, of a born gunman. And Pete was always doing something with +his hands, even when apparently oblivious to everything around him. A +novice at reading men would have considered him nervous. He was far +from nervous. This was proven to The Spider's satisfaction when Malvey +entered--"Bull" Malvey, red-headed, bluff and huge, of a gaunt frame, +with large-knuckled hands and big feet. Malvey tossed a coin on the +bar noisily, and in that one act Pete read him for what he was--a man +who "bullied" his way through life with much bluster and profanity, but +a man who, if he boasted, would make good his boast. What appeared to +be hearty good-nature in Malvey was in reality a certain blatantly +boisterous vigor--a vigor utterly soulless, and masking a nature at +bottom as treacherous as The Spider's--but in contrast squalid and +mean. Malvey would steal five dollars. The Spider would not touch a +job for less than five hundred. While cruel, treacherous, and a +killer, The Spider had nothing small or mean about him. And subtle to +a degree, he hated the blunt-spoken, blustering Malvey, but for reasons +unadvertised, called him friend. + +"Have a drink?" + +"Thanks." And Pete poured himself a noticeably small quantity. + +"This is Malvey--Bull Malvey," said The Spider, hesitating for Pete to +name himself. + +"Pete's my name. I left the rest of it to home." + +Malvey laughed. "That goes. How's things over to the Concho?" + +"I ain't been there since yesterday." + +The Spider blinked, which was a sign that he was pleased. He never +laughed. + +Malvey winked at The Spider. "You ain't ridin' back that way to-day, +mebby? I'd like to send word--" + +Pete shook his head. "Nope. I aim to stay right here a spell." + +"If you're intendin' to _keep_ that horse out there, perhaps you'd like +to feed him." And The Spider indicated the direction of the corral +with a twist of the head. + +"Which is correct," said Pete. + +"Help yourself," said The Spider. + +"I get you," said Pete significantly; and he turned and strode out. + +"What in hell is he talkin' about?" queried Malvey. + +"His horse." + +Malvey frowned. "Some smooth kid, eh?" + +The Spider nodded. + +Pete appreciated that his own absence was desired; that these men were +quietly curious to find out who he was--and what he had done that +brought him to Showdown. But Malvey knew nothing about Pete, nor of +any recent trouble over Concho way. And Pete, unsaddling his pony, +knew that he would either make good with The Spider or else he would +make a mistake, and then there would be no need for further subterfuge. +Pete surveyed the corral and outbuildings. The whole arrangement was +cleverly planned. He calculated from the position of the sun that it +lacked about three hours of noon. Well, so far he had played his hand +with all the cards on the table--card for card with The Spider alone. +Now there would be a new deal. Pete would have to play accordingly. + +When he again entered the saloon, from the rear, The Spider and Malvey +were standing out in the road, gazing toward the north. "I see only +three of them," he heard The Spider say in his peculiar, high-pitched +voice. And Pete knew that the speech was intended for his ear. + +"Nope. Four!" said Malvey positively. + +Pete leaned his elbow on the bar and watched them. Malvey was +obviously acting his part, but The Spider's attitude seemed sincere. +"Pete," he called, "Malvey says there are four riders drifting in from +the north. I make it three." + +"You're both wrong and you got about three hours to find it out in," +said Pete. + +Malvey and The Spider glanced at one another. Evidently Pete was more +shrewd than they had suspected. And evidently he would be followed to +Showdown. + +"It's a killing," whispered The Spider. "I thought that it was. How +do you size him up?" + +"Pretty smooth--for a kid," said Malvey. + +"Worth a blanket?" queried The Spider, which meant, worth hiding from +the law until such time as| a blanket was not necessary. + +"I'd say so." + +They turned and entered the saloon. The Spider crept from the middle +of his web and made plain his immediate desire. "Strangers are welcome +in Showdown, riding single," he told Pete. "We aren't hooked up to +entertain a crowd. If you got friends coming--friends that are +suffering to see you--why, you ain't here when they come. _And you +ain't been here_. If nobody is following your smoke, why, take your +time." + +"I'll be takin' my hoss when he gits done feedin'," stated Pete. + +The Spider nodded approval. Showdown had troubles of its own. + +"Malvey, did you say you were riding south?" + +"Uh-huh." + +"Kind of funny--but I was headin' south myself," said Pete. "Bein' a +stranger I might git lost alone." + +"Which wouldn't scare you none," guffawed, Malvey. + +"Which wouldn't scare me none," said Pete. + +"But a crowd of friends--riding in sudden--" suggested The Spider. + +"I 'd be plumb scared to death," said Pete. + +"I got your number," asserted The Spider. + +"Then hang her on the rack. But hang her on the right hook." + +"One, two, or three?" queried The Spider. + +"Make it three," said Pete. + +The Spider glanced sharply at Pete, who met his eye with a gaze in +which there was both a challenge and a confession. Yet there was no +boastful pride in the confession. It was as though Pete had stated the +simple fact that he had killed a man in self-defense--perhaps more than +one man--and had earned the hatred of those who had the power to make +him pay with his life, whether he were actually guilty or not. + +If this young stranger had three notches in his gun, and thus far had +managed to evade the law, there was a possibility of his becoming a +satellite among The Spider's henchmen. Not that The Spider cared in +the least what became of Pete, save that if he gave promise of becoming +useful, it would be worth while helping him to evade his pursuers this +once at least. He knew that if he once earned Pete's gratitude, he +would have one stanch friend. Moreover, The Spider was exceedingly +crafty, always avoiding trouble when possible to do so. So he set +about weaving the blanket that was to hide Pete from any one who might +become too solicitous about his welfare and so disturb the present +peace of Showdown. + +The Spider's plan was simple, and his instructions to Malvey brief. +While Pete saddled his horse, The Spider talked with Malvey. "Take him +south--to Flores's rancho. Tell Flores he is a friend of mine. When +you get a chance, take his horse, and fan it over to Blake's. Leave +the horse there. I want you to set him afoot at Flores's. When I'm +ready, I'll send for him." + +"What do I git out of it?" + +"Why, the horse. Blake'll give you a hundred for that cayuse, if I am +any judge of a good animal." + +"He'll give me fifty, mebby. Blake ain't payin' too much for any +hosses that I fetch in." + +"Then I'll give you the other fifty and settle with Blake later." + +"That goes, Spider." + +The Spider and Malvey stepped out as Pete had it out with Blue Smoke in +front of the saloon. + +"We're ridin'," said Malvey, as Pete spurred his pony to the rail. + +Pete leaned forward and offered his hand to The Spider. "I'll make +this right with you," said Pete. + +"Forget it," said The Spider. + +Showdown dozed in the desert heat. The street was deserted. The +Mexican who helped about the saloon was asleep in the patio. The +Spider opened a new pack of cards, shuffled them, and began a game of +solitaire. Occasionally he glanced out into the glare, blinking and +muttering to himself. Malvey and Pete had been gone about an hour when +a lean dog that had lain across from the hitching-rail, rose, shook +himself, and turned to gaze up the street. The Spider called to the +man in the patio. He came quickly. "I'm expecting visitors," said The +Spider in Mexican. The other started toward the front doorway, but The +Spider called him back with a word, and gestured to the door back of +the bar--the doorway to The Spider's private room. The Mexican entered +the room and closed the door softly, drew up a chair, and sat close to +the door in the attitude of one who listens. Presently he heard the +patter of hoofs, the grunt of horses pulled up sharply, and the tread +of men entering the saloon. The Mexican drew his gun and rested his +forearm across his knees, the gun hanging easily in his half-closed +hand. He did not know who the men were nor how The Spider had known +that they were coming. But he knew what was expected of him in case of +trouble. The Spider sat directly across from the door behind the bar. +Any one talking with him would be between him and the door. + +"Guess we'll have a drink--and talk later," said Houck. The Spider +glanced up from his card-game, and nodded casually. + +The sound of shuffling feet, and the Mexican knew that the strangers +were facing the bar. He softly holstered his gun. While he could not +understand English, he knew by the tone of the conversation that these +men were not the enemies of his weazened master. + + +"Seen anything of a kind of dark-complected young fella wearin' a black +Stetson and ridin' a blue roan?" queried Houck. + +"Where was he from?" countered The Spider. + +"The Concho, and ridin' a hoss with the Concho brand." + +"Wanted bad?" + +"Yes--a whole lot. He shot Steve Gary yesterday." + +"Gary of the T-Bar-T?" + +"The same--and a friend of mine," interpolated the cowboy Simpson. + +"Huh! You say he's young--just a kid?" + +"Yes. But a dam' tough kid." + +"Pete Annersley, eh? Not the Young Pete that was mixed up in that raid +a few years ago?" + +"The same." + +"No--I didn't see anything of him," said The Spider. + +"We trailed him down this way." + +The Spider nodded. + +"And we mean to keep right on ridin'--till we find him," blurted +Simpson. + +Houck realized that The Spider knew more than he cared to tell. +Simpson had blundered in stating their future plans, Houck tried to +cover the blunder. "We like to get some chuck--enough to carry us back +to the ranch." + +"I'm short on chuck," said The Spider. "If you men were +deputies--sworn in regular--why, I'd have to give it to you." + +Simpson was inclined to argue, but Houck stopped him. + +"Guess we can make it all right," he said easily. "Come on, boys!" + +Houck, wiser than his companions, realized the uselessness of searching +farther, a fact obvious even to the hot-headed Simpson when at the edge +of the town they tried to buy provisions from a Mexican and were met +with a shrug and a reiterated "No sabe." + +"And that just about settles it," said Houck as he reined his pony +round and faced north. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +BULL MALVEY + +Malvey, when not operating a machine gun for Mexican bandits, was +usually busy evading a posse on the American side of the border. +Needless to say, he knew the country well--and the country knew him +only too well. He had friends--of a kind--and he had enemies of every +description and color from the swart, black-eyed Cholas of Sonora to +the ruddy, blue-eyed Rangers of Texas. He trusted no man--and no man +who knew him trusted him--not even The Spider, though he could have +sent Malvey to the penitentiary on any one of several counts. + +Malvey had no subtlety. He simply knew the game and possessed a +tremendous amount of nerve. Like most red-headed men, he rode +rough-shod and aggressively to his goal. He "bulled" his way through, +when more capable men of equal nerve failed. + +Riding beside him across the southern desert, Young Pete could not help +noticing Malvey's hands--huge-knuckled and freckled--and Pete surmised +correctly that this man was not quick with a gun. Pete also noticed +that Malvey "roughed" his horse unnecessarily; that he was a good +rider, but a poor horseman. Pete wondered that desert life had not +taught Malvey to take better care of his horse. + +As yet Pete knew nothing of their destination--nor did he care. It was +good to be out in the open, again with a good horse under him. The +atmosphere of The Spider's saloon had been too tense for comfort. Pete +simply wanted to vacate Showdown until such time as he might return +safely. He had no plan--but he did believe that Showdown would know +him again. He could not say why. And it was significant of Young +Pete's descent to the lower plane that he should consider Showdown safe +at any time. + +Pete was in reality never more unsafe than at the present time. While +space and a swift pony between his knees argued of bodily freedom, he +felt uneasy. Perhaps because of Malvey's occasional covert glance at +Blue Smoke--for Pete saw much that he did not appear to see. Pete +became cautious forthwith, studying the lay of the land. It was a bad +country to travel, being so alike in its general aspect of butte and +arroyo, sand and cacti, that there was little to lay hold upon as a +landmark. A faint line of hills edged the far southern horizon and +there were distant hills to the east and west. They journeyed across +an immense basin, sun-smitten, desolate, unpromising. + +"Just plain hell," said Malvey as though reading Pete's thought. + +"You act like you was to home all right," laughed Pete. + +Malvey glanced quickly at his companion, alive to an implied insult, +but he saw only a young, smooth-cheeked rider in whose dark eyes shone +neither animosity nor friendliness. They jogged on, neither speaking +for many miles. When Malvey did speak, his manner was the least bit +patronizing. He could not quite understand Pete, yet The Spider had +seemed to understand him. As Pete had said nothing about the trouble +that had driven him to the desert, Malvey considered silence on that +subject emanated from a lack of trust. He wanted to gain Pete's +confidence--for the time being at least. It would make it that much +easier to follow The Spider's instructions in regard to Pete's horse. +But to all Malvey's hints Pete was either silent or jestingly +unresponsive. As the journey thinned the possibilities of Pete's +capture, it became monotonous, even to Malvey, who set about planning +how he could steal Pete's horse with the least risk to himself. Aside +from The Spider's instructions Malvey coveted the pony--a far better +horse than his own--and he was of two minds as to whether he should not +keep the pony for his own use. The Concho was a long cry from +Showdown--while the horse Malvey rode had been stolen from a more +immediate neighborhood. As for setting this young stranger afoot in +the desert, that did not bother Malvey in the least. No posse would +ride farther south than Showdown, and with Pete afoot at Flores's +rancho, Malvey would be free to follow his own will, either to Blake's +ranch or farther south and across the border. Whether Pete returned to +Showdown or not was none of Malvey's affair. To get away with the +horse might require some scheming. Malvey made no further attempt to +draw Pete out--but rode on in silence. + +They came upon the cañon suddenly, so suddenly that Pete's horse shied +and circled. Malvey, leading, put his own pony down a steep and +winding trail. Pete followed, fixing his eyes on a far green spot at +the bottom of the cañon, and the thin thread of smoke above the trees +that told of a habitation. + +At a bend in the trail, Malvey turned in the saddle: "We'll bush down +here. Friends of mine." + +Pete nodded. + +They watered their horses at the thin trickle of water in the cañon-bed +and then rode slowly past a weirdly fenced field. Presently they came +to a rude adobe stable and scrub-cedar corral. A few yards beyond, and +hidden by the bushes, was the house. A pock-marked Mexican greeted +Malvey gruffly. The Spider's name was mentioned, and Pete was +introduced as his friend. The horses were corralled and fed. + +As Pete entered the adobe, a thin, listless Mexican woman--Flores's +wife--called to some one in an inner room. Presently Flores's daughter +appeared, supple of movement and smiling. She greeted Malvey as though +he were an old friend, cast down her eyes at Pete's direct gaze, and +straightway disappeared again. From the inner room came the sound of a +song. The young stranger with Malvey was good-looking--quite worth +changing her dress for. She hoped he would think her pretty. Most men +admired her--she was really beautiful in her dark, Southern way--and +some of them had given her presents--a cheap ring, a handkerchief from +Old Mexico, a pink and, to her, wonderful brush and comb. Boca +Dulzura--or "pretty mouth" of the Flores rancho--cared for no man, but +she liked men, especially when they gave her presents. + +When she came from her room, Malvey laughingly accused her of "fixing +up" because of Pete, as he teased her about her gay rebosa and her +crimson sash. She affected scorn for his talk--but was naturally +pleased. And the young stranger was staring at her, which pleased her +still more. + +"This here hombre is Pete," said Malvey. "He left his other name to +home." And he laughed raucously. + +Pete bowed, taking the introduction quite seriously. + +Boca was piqued. This young caballero did not seem anxious to know +her--like the other men. He did not smile. + +"Pete," she lisped, with a tinge of mockery in her voice. "Pete has +not learned to talk yet--he is so young?" + +Malvey slapped his thigh and guffawed. Pete stood solemnly eying him +for a moment. Then he turned to the girl. "I ain't used to talkin' to +women--'specially pretty ones--like you." + +Boca clapped her hands. "There! 'Bool' Malvey has never said anything +so clever as that." + +"Bool" Malvey frowned. But he was hungry, and Flores's wife was +preparing supper. Despite Boca's pretty mouth and fine dark eyes, +which invited to conversation, Pete felt very much alone--very much of +a stranger in this out-of-the-way household. He thought of his chum +Andy White, and of Ma Bailey and Jim, and the boys of the Concho. He +wondered what they were doing--if they were talking about him--and +Gary. It seemed a long time since he had thrown his hat in the corner +and pulled up his chair to the Concho table. He wished that he might +talk with some one--he was thinking of Jim Bailey--and tell him just +what there had been to the shooting. But with these folks . . . + +The shadows were lengthening. Already the lamp on Flores's table was +lighted, there in the kitchen where Malvey was drinking wine with the +old Mexican. Pete had forgotten Boca--almost forgotten where he was +for the moment, when something touched his arm. He turned a startled +face to the girl. She smiled and then whispered quickly, "It is that I +hate that 'Bool' Malvey. He is bad. Of what are you thinking, señor?" + +Pete blinked and hesitated. "Of my folks--back there," he said. + +Boca darted from him as her mother called her to help set the table. +Pete's lips were drawn in a queer line. He had no folks "back +there"--or anywhere. "It was her eyes made me feel that way," he +thought. And, "Doggone it--I'm livin'--anyhow." + +From the general conversation at the table that evening Pete gathered +that queer visitors came to this place frequently. It was a kind of +isolated, halfway house between the border and Showdown. He heard the +name of "Scar-Face," "White-Eye," "Sonora Jim," "Tio Verdugo," a rare +assortment of border vagabonds known by name to the cowboys of the high +country. The Spider was frequently mentioned. It was evident that he +had some peculiar influence over the Flores household, from the +respectful manner in which his name was received by the whole family. +And Pete, unfamiliar with the goings and comings of those men, their +quarrels, friendships, and sinister escapades, ate and listened in +silence, realizing that he too had earned a tentative place among them. +He found himself listening with keen interest to Malvey's account of a +machine-gun duel between two white men,--renegades and leaders in +opposing factions below the border,--and how one of them, shot through +and through, stuck to his gun until he had swept the plaza of enemy +sharp-shooters and had then crawled on hands and knees to the other +machine gun, killed its wounded operator with a six-shooter, and turned +the machine gun on his fleeing foes, shooting until the Mexicans of his +own company had taken courage enough to return and rescue him. "And +he's in El Paso now," concluded Malvey, "at the hospital. He writ to +The Spider for money--and The Spider sure sent it to him." + +"Who was he fightin' for?" queried Pete, interested in spite of himself. + +"Fightin' for? For hisself! Because he likes the game. You don't +want to git the idea that any white man is down there fightin' just to +help a lot of dirty Greasers--on either side of the scrap." + +A quick and significant glance shot from Boca's eyes to her mother's. +Old Flores ate stolidly. If he had heard he showed no evidence of it. + +"'Bull' Malvey! A darn good name for him," thought Pete. And he felt +a strange sense of shame at being in his company. He wondered if +Flores were afraid of Malvey or simply indifferent to his raw talk. +And Pete--who had never gone out of his way to make a friend--decided +to be as careful of what he said as Malvey was careless. Pete had +never lacked nerve, but he was endowed with considerable caution--a +fact that The Spider had realized and so had considered him worth the +trouble of hiding--as an experiment. + +After supper the men sat out beneath the vine-covered portal--Malvey +and Flores with a wicker-covered demijohn of wine between them--and +Pete lounging on the doorstep, smoking and gazing across the cañon at +the faint stars of an early evening. With the wine, old Flores's +manner changed from surly indifference to a superficial politeness +which in no way deceived Pete. And Malvey, whose intent was plainly to +get drunk, boasted of his doings on either side of the line. He hinted +that he had put more than one Mexican out of the way--and he slapped +Flores on the back--and Flores laughed. He spoke of raids on the +horse-herds of white men, and through some queer perversity inspired in +his drink, openly asserted that he was the "slickest hoss-thief in +Arizona," turning to Pete as he spoke. + +"I'll take your word for it," said Pete. + +"But what's the use of settin' out here like a couple of dam' buzzards +when the ladies are waitin' for us in there?" queried Malvey, and be +leered at Flores. + +The old Mexican grunted and rose stiffly. They entered the 'dobe, +Malvey insisting that Pete come in and hear Boca sing. + +"I can listen out here." Pete was beginning to hate Malvey, with the +cold, deliberate hatred born of instinct. As for old Flores, Pete +despised him heartily. A man that could hear his countrymen called "a +dirty bunch of Greasers," and have nothing to say, was a pretty poor +sort of a man. + +Disgusted with Malvey's loud talk and his raw attitude toward Boca, +Pete sat in the moon-flung shadows of the portal and smoked and gazed +at the stars. He was half-asleep when he heard Boca tell Malvey that +he was a pig and the son of a pig. Malvey laughed. There came the +sound of a scuffle. Pete glanced over his shoulder. Malvey had his +arm around the girl and was trying to kiss her. Flores was watching +them, grinning in a kind of drunken indifference. + +Pete hesitated. He was there on sufferance--a stranger. After all, +this was none of his business. Boca's father and mother were also +there . . . + +Boca screamed. Malvey let go of her and swung round as Pete stepped +up. "What's the idee, Malvey?" + +"You don't draw no cards in this deal," snarled Malvey. + +"Then we shuffle and cut for a new deal," said Pete. + +Malvey's loose mouth hardened as he backed toward the corner of the +room, where Boca cringed, her hands covering her face. Suddenly the +girl sprang up and caught Malvey's arm, "No! No!" she cried. + +He flung her aside and reached for his gun--but Pete was too quick for +him. They crashed down and rolled across the room. Pete wriggled free +and rose. In a flash he realized that he was no match for Malvey's +brute strength. He had no desire to kill Malvey--but he did not intend +that Malvey should kill him. Pete jerked his gun loose as Malvey +staggered to his feet, but Pete dared not shoot on account of Boca. He +saw Malvey's hand touch the butt of his gun--when something crashed +down from behind. Pete dimly remembered Boca's white face--and the +room went black. + +Malvey strode forward. + +Old Flores dropped the neck of the shattered bottle and stood gazing +down at Pete. "The good wine is gone. I break the bottle," said +Flores, grinning. + +"To hell with the wine! Let's pack this young tin-horn out where he +won't be in the way." + +But as Malvey stooped, Boca flung herself in front of him. "Pig!" she +flamed. She turned furiously on her father, whose vacuous grin faded +as she cursed him shrilly for a coward. + +Listless and heavy-eyed came Boca's mother. Without the slightest +trace of emotion she examined Pete's wound, fetched water and washed +it, binding it up with a handkerchief. Quite as listlessly she spoke +to her husband, telling him to leave the wine and go to bed. + +Flores mumbled a protest. Malvey asked him if he let the women run the +place. Boca's mother turned to Malvey. "You will go," she said +quietly. Malvey cursed as he stepped from the room. He could face +Boca's fury, or face any man in a quarrel, but there was something in +the deathlike quietness of the sad-eyed Mexican woman that chilled his +blood. He did not know what would happen if he refused to go--yet he +knew that something would happen. It was not the first time that +Flores's wife had interfered in quarrels of the border outlaws +sojourning at the ranch. In Showdown men said that she would as soon +knife a man as not. Malvey, who had lived much in Old Mexico, had seen +women use the knife. + +He went without a word. Boca heard him speak sharply to his horse, as +she and her mother lifted Pete and carried him to the bedroom. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +BOCA DULZURA + +Just before dawn Pete became conscious that some one was sitting near +him and occasionally bathing his head with cool water. He tried to sit +up. A slender hand pushed him gently back. "It is good that you +rest," said a voice. The room was dark--he could not see--but he knew +that Boca was there and he felt uncomfortable. He was not accustomed +to being waited upon, especially by a woman. + +"Where's Malvey?" he asked. + +"I do not know. He is gone." + +Again Pete tried to sit up, but sank back as a shower of fiery dots +whirled before his eyes. He realized that he had been hit pretty +hard--that he could do nothing but keep still just then. The hot pain +subsided as the wet cloth again touched his forehead and he drifted to +sleep. When he awakened at midday he was alone. + +He rose, and steadying himself along the wall, finally reached the +doorway. Old Flores was working in the distant garden-patch. Beyond +him, Boca and her mother were pulling beans. Pete stepped out dizzily +and glanced toward the corral. His horse was not there. + +Pete was a bit hasty in concluding that the squalid drama of the +previous evening (the cringing girl, the drunkenly indifferent father, +and the malevolent Malvey) had been staged entirely for his benefit. +The fact was that Malvey had been only too sincere in his boorishness +toward Boca; Flores equally sincere in his indifference, and Boca +herself actually frightened by the turn Malvey's drink had taken. That +old Flores had knocked Pete out with a bottle was the one and +extravagant act that even Malvey himself could hardly have anticipated +had the whole miserable affair been prearranged. In his drunken +stupidity Flores blindly imagined that the young stranger was the cause +of the quarrel. + +Pete, however, saw in it a frame-up to knock him out and make away with +his horse. And back of it all he saw The Spider's craftily flung web +that held him prisoner, afoot and among strangers. "They worked it +slick," he muttered. + +Boca happened to glance up. Pete was standing bareheaded in the noon +sunlight. With an exclamation Boca rose and hastened to him. Young +Pete's eyes were sullen as she begged him to seek the shade of the +portal. + +"Where's my horse?" he challenged, ignoring her solicitude. + +She shook her head. "I do not know. Malvey is gone." + +"That's a cinch! You sure worked it slick." + +"I do not understand." + +"Well, I do." + +Pete studied her face. Despite his natural distrust, he realized that +the girl was innocent of plotting against him. He decided to confide +in her--even play the lover if necessary--and he hated pretense--to win +her sympathy and help; for he knew that if he ever needed a friend it +was now. + +Boca steadied him to the bench just outside the doorway, and fetched +water. He drank and felt better. Then she carefully unrolled the +bandage, washed the clotted blood from the wound and bound it up again. + +"It is bad that you come here," she told him. + +"Well, I got one friend, anyhow," said Pete. + +"Si, I am your friend," she murmured. + +"I ain't what you'd call hungry--but I reckon some coffee would kind of +stop my head from swimmin' round," suggested Pete. + +"Si, I will get it." + +Pete wondered how far he could trust the girl--whether she would really +help him or whether her kindness were such as any human being would +extend to one injured or in distress--"same as a dog with his leg +broke," thought Pete. But after he drank the coffee he ceased worrying +about the future and decided to take things an they came and make the +best of them. + +"Perhaps it is that you have killed a man?" ventured Boca, curious to +know why he was there. + +Pete hesitated, as he eyed her sharply. There seemed to be no motive +behind her question other than simple curiosity. "I've put better men +than Malvey out of business," he asserted. + +Boca eyed him with a new interest. She had thought that perhaps this +young señor had but stolen a horse or two--a most natural inference in +view of his recent associate. So this young vaquero was a boy in years +only?--and outlawed! No doubt there was a reward for his capture. +Boca had lightly fancied Young Pete the evening before; but now she +felt a much deeper interest. She quickly cautioned him to say nothing +to her father about the real reason for his being there. Rather Pete +was to say, if questioned, that he had stolen a horse about which +Malvey and he had quarreled. + +Pete scowled. "I'm no low-down hoss-thief!" he flared. + +Boca smiled. "Now it is that I know you have killed a man!" + +Pete was surprised that the idea seemed to please her. + +"But my father"--she continued--"he would sell you--for money. So it +is that you will say that you have stolen a horse." + +"I reckon he would,"--and Pete gently felt the back of his head. "So +I'll tell him like you say. I'm dependin' a whole lot on you--to git +me out of this," he added. + +"You will rest," she told him, and turned to go back to her work. "I +am your friend," she whispered, pausing with her finger to her lips. + +Pete understood and nodded. + +So far he had done pretty well, he argued. Later, when he felt able to +ride, he would ask Boca to find a horse for him. He knew that there +must be saddle-stock somewhere in the cañon. Men like Flores always +kept several good horses handy for an emergency. Meanwhile Pete +determined to rest and gain strength, even while he pretended that he +was unfit to ride. When he _did_ leave, he would leave in a hurry and +before old Flores could play him another trick. + +For a while Pete watched the three figures puttering about the +bean-patch. Presently he got up and stepped into the house, drank some +coffee, and came out again. He sat down on the bench and took mental +stock of his own belongings. He had a few dollars in silver, his +erratic watch, and his gun. Suddenly he bethought him of his saddle. +The sun made his head swim as he stepped out toward the corral. Yes, +his saddle and bridle hung on the corral bars, just where he had left +them. He was about to return to the shade of the portal when he +noticed the tracks of unshod horses in the dust. So old Flores had +other horses in the cañon? Well, in a day or so Pete would show the +Mexican a trick with a large round hole in it--the hole representing +the space recently occupied by one of his ponies. Incidentally Pete +realized that he was getting deeper and deeper into the meshes of The +Spider's web--and the thought spurred him to a keener vigilance. So +far he had killed three men actually in self-defense. But when he met +up with Malvey--and Pete promised himself that pleasure--he would not +wait for Malvey to open the argument. "Got to kill to live," he told +himself. "Well, I got the name--and I might as well have the game. +It's nobody's funeral but mine, anyhow." He felt, mistakenly, that his +friends had all gone back on him--a condition of mind occasioned by his +misfortunes rather than by any logical thought, for at that very moment +Jim Bailey was searching high and low for Pete in order to tell him +that Gary was not dead--but had been taken to the railroad hospital at +Enright, operated on, and now lay, minus the fragments of three or four +ribs, as malevolent as ever, and slowly recovering from a wound that +had at first been considered fatal. + +Young Pete was not to know of this until long after the knowledge could +have had any value in shaping his career. Bailey, with two of his men, +traced Pete as far as Showdown, where the trail went blind, ending with +The Spider's apparently sincere assertion that he knew nothing whatever +of Peters whereabouts. + +Paradoxically, those very qualities which won him friends now kept Pete +from those friends. The last place toward which he would have chosen +to ride would have been the Concho--and the last man he would have +asked for help would have been Jim Bailey. Pete felt that he was doing +pretty well at creating trouble for himself without entangling his best +friends. + +"Got to kill to live," he reiterated. + +"Como 'sta, señor?" Old Flores had just stepped from behind the +crumbling 'dobe wall of the stable. + +"Well, it ain't your fault I ain't a-furnishin' a argument for the +coyotes." + +"The señor would insult Boca. He was drunk," said Flores. + +"Hold on there! Don't you go cantelopin' off with any little ole idea +like that sewed up in your hat. _Which_ señor was drunk?" + +Flores shrugged his shoulders. "Who may say?" he half-whined. + +"Well, I can, for one," asserted Pete. "_You_ was drunk and _Malvey_ +was drunk, and the two of you dam' near fixed me. But that don't +count--now. Where's my hoss?" + +"Quien sabe?" + +"You make me sick," said Pete in English. Flores caught the word +"sick" and thought Pete was complaining of his physical condition. + +"The señor is welcome to rest and get well. What is done is done, and +cannot be mended. But when the señor would ride, I can find a horse--a +good horse and not a very great price." + +"I'm willin' to pay," said Pete, who thought that he had already pretty +well paid for anything he might need. + +"And a good saddle," continued Flores. + +"I'm usin' my own rig," stated Pete. + +"It is the saddle, there, that I would sell to the señor." The old +Mexican gestured toward Pete's own saddle. + +Pete was about to retort hastily when he reconsidered. The only way to +meet trickery was with trickery. "All right," he said indifferently. +"You'll sure get all that is comin' to you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +"A DRESS--OR A RING, PERHAPS" + +All that day Pete lay in the shade of the 'dobe feigning indifference +to Boca as she brought him water and food, until even she was deceived +by his listlessness, fearing that he had been seriously injured. Not +until evening did he show any sign of interest in her presence. With +the shadows it grew cooler. Old Flores sat in the doorway smoking. +His wife sat beside him, gazing at the far rim of the evening cañon. +Presently she rose and stepped round to where Pete and Boca were +talking. "You will go," said Boca's mother abruptly. "Boca shall find +a horse for you." + +Pete, taken by surprise,--Boca's mother had spoken just when Pete had +asked Boca where her father kept the horses,--stammered an +acknowledgment of her presence; but the Mexican woman did not seem to +hear him. "To-night," she continued, "Boca will find a horse. It is +good that you go--but not that you go to Showdown." + +"I sure want to thank you both. But, honest, I wouldn't know where +else to go but to Showdown. Besides, I got a hunch Malvey was headed +that way." + +"That is as a man speaks," said the señora. "My man was like that +once--but now--" + +"I'm broke--no dineros," said Pete. + +"It is my horse that he shall have--" Boca began. + +But her mother interrupted quietly. "The young señor will return--and +there are many ways to pay. We are poor. You will not forget us. You +will come again, alone in the night. And it is not Malvey that will +show you the way." + +"Not if I see him first, señora." + +"You jest--but even now you would kill Malvey if he were here." + +"You sure are tellin' Malvey's fortune," laughed Pete. "Kin you tell +mine?" + +"Again you jest--but I will speak. You will not kill Malvey, yet you +shall find your own horse. You will be hunted by men, but you will not +always be as you are now. Some day you will have wealth, and then it +is that you will remember this night. You will come again at night, +and alone--but Boca will not be here. You will grow weary of life from +much suffering, even as I. Then it is that you will think of these +days and many days to come--and these days shall be as wine in your old +age--" Boca's mother paused as though listening. "But like wine--" +and again she paused. + +"Headache?" queried Pete. "Well, I know how that feels, without the +wine. That fortune sounds good to me--all except that about Boca. +Now, mebby you could tell me which way Malvey was headed?" + +"He has ridden to Showdown." + +"So that red-headed hoss-thief fanned it right back to his boss, eh? +He must 'a' thought I was fixed for good." + +"It is his way. Men spake truly when they called him the bull. He is +big--but he is as a child." + +"Well, there's goin' to be one mighty sick child for somebody to nurse, +right soon," stated Pete. + +"I have said that it is bad that you ride to Showdown. But you will go +there--and he whom men call The Spider--he shall be your friend--even +with his life." + +As quietly as she came the Mexican woman departed, leaving Boca and +Pete gazing at each other in the dusk. "She makes me afraid +sometimes," whispered Boca. + +"Sounds like she could jest plumb see what she was talkin' about. Kind +of second-sight, I reckon. Wonder why she didn't put me wise to Malvey +when I lit in here with him? It would 'a' saved a heap of trouble." + +"It is the dream," said Boca. "These things she has seen in a dream." + +"I ain't got nothin' against your ole--your mother, Boca, but by the +way I'm feelin', she's sure due to have a bad one, right soon." + +"You do not believe?" queried Boca quite seriously. + +"Kind of--half. I don't aim to know everything." + +"She said you would come back," and Boca smiled. + +"_That_ dream'll sure come true. I ain't forgettin'. But I ain't +goin' to wait till you're gone." + +Boca touched Pete's hand. "And you will bring me a present. A +dress--or a ring, perhaps?" + +"You kin jest bank on that! I don't aim to travel where they make 'em +reg'lar, but you sure get that present--after I settle with Malvey." + +"That is the way with men," pouted Boca. "They think only of the +quarrel." + +"You got me wrong, señorita. I don't want to kill nobody. The big +idee is to keep from gittin' bumped off myself. Now you'd think a +whole lot of me if I was to ride off and forgit all about what Malvey +done?" + +"I would go with you," said Boca softly. + +"Honest? Well, you'd sure make a good pardner." Pete eyed the girl +with a new interest. Then he shook his head. "I--you'd sure make a +good pardner--but it would be mighty tough for you. I'd do most +anything--but that. You see, Chicita, I'm in bad. I'm like to get +mine most any time. And I ain't no ladies' man--nohow." + +"But you will come back?" queried Boca anxiously. + +"As sure as you're livin'! Only you want to kind o' eddicate your ole +man to handle bottles more easy-like. He ought to know what they're +made for." + +"Your head--it is cool," said Boca, reaching up and touching Pete's +forehead. + +"Oh, I'm feelin' fine, considerin'." + +"Then I am happy," said Boca. + +Pete never knew just how he happened to find Boca's hand in his own. +But he knew that she had a very pretty mouth, and fine eyes; eyes that +glowed softly in the dusk. Before he realized what had happened, Boca +was in his arms, and he was telling her again and again that "he sure +would come back." + +She murmured her happiness as he kissed her awkwardly, and quickly, as +though bidding her a hasty farewell. But she would not let him go with +that. "Mi amor! Mi corazone!" she whispered, as she clasped her hands +behind his head and gently drew his mouth to hers. + +Pete felt embarrassed, but his embarrassment melted in the soft warmth +of her affection and he returned her kisses with all the ardor of +youth. Suddenly she pushed him away and rose. Her mother had called +her. + +"About twelve," whispered Pete. "Tell your ole man I'll bush out here. +It's a heap cooler." + +She nodded and left him. Pete heard Flores speak to her gruffly. + +"Somebody ought to put that ole side-of bacon in the well," +soliloquized Pete. "I could stand for the ole lady, all right, and +Boca sure is a lily . . . but I was forgettin' I got to ride to +Showdown to-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE DEVIL-WIND + +As Pete lay planning his departure--he wondered if Boca would think to +find him a canteen and food for his long ride--the stars, hitherto +clear-edged and brilliant, became blurred as though an almost invisible +mist had drifted between them and the earth. He rubbed his eyes. Yes, +there was no mistake about it. He was wide awake, and the sky was +changing. That which had seemed a mist now appeared more like a fine +dust, that swept across the heavens and dimmed the desert sky. It +occurred to him that he was at the bottom of a fairly deep cañon and +that that impalpable dust meant wind, A little later he heard it,--at +first a faint, far-away sound like the whisper of many voices; then a +soft, steady hiss as when wind-driven sand runs over sand. A hot wind +sprang up suddenly and swept with a rush down the night-walled cañon. +It was the devil-wind of the desert, the wind that curls the leaf and +shrivels the vine, even in the hours when there is no sun. When the +devil-wind drives, men lie naked beneath the sky in sleepless misery. +Horses and cattle stand with heads lowered and flanks drawn in, +suffering an invisible torture from which there is no escape. The dawn +brings no relief--no freshening of the air. The heat drives on--three +days--say those who know the southern desert--and no man rides the +trails, but seeks what shade may be, and lies torpid and silent--or if +he speaks, it is to curse the land. + +Pete knew that this devil-wind would make old Flores restless. He +stepped round to the doorway and asked for water. From the darkness +within the adobe came Flores's voice and the sound of a match against +wood. The Mexican appeared with a candle. + +"My head feels queer," stated Pete, as an excuse for disturbing Flores. +"I can't find the olla--and I'm dead for a drink." + +"Then we shall drink this," said Flores, fetching a jug of wine from +beneath the bench. + +"Not for mine! I'm dizzy enough, without that." + +"It is the devil-wind. One may get drunk and forget. One may then +sleep. And if one sleeps, it is not so bad." + +Pete shook his head, but tasted the wine that Flores poured for him. +If the old man would only get drunk enough to go to sleep . . . The +Mexican's oily, pock-marked face glistened in the flickering +candle-light. He drank and smacked his lips. "If one is to die of the +heat--one might as well die drunk," he laughed. "Drink, señor!" + +Pete sipped the wine and watched the other as he filled and emptied his +glass again. "It is the good wine," said Flores. The candle-light +cast a huge, distorted shadow of the Mexican's head and shoulders on +the farther wall. The faint drone of the hot wind came to them from +the plains above. The candle-flame fluttered. Flores reached down for +the jug and set it on the table. "All night we shall drink of the good +wine, for no man may sleep.", + +"I'm with you," said Pete. "Only I ain't so swift." + +"No man may sleep," reiterated Flores, again emptying his tumbler. + +"How about the women-folks?" queried Pete. + +Flores waved his hand in a gesture indicative of supreme indifference +to what the "women-folks" did. He noticed that Pete was not drinking +and insisted that he drink and refill his glass. Pete downed the raw +red wine and presently complained of feeling sleepy. Flores grinned. +"I do not sleep," he asserted--"not until this is gone"--and he struck +the jug with his knuckles. Pete felt that he was in for a long +session, and inwardly cursed his luck. Flores's eyes brightened and he +grew talkative. He spoke of his youth in Old Mexico; of the cattle and +the women of that land. Pete feigned a heaviness that he did not feel. +Presently Flores's talk grew disconnected; his eye became dull and his +swarthy face was mottled with yellow. The sweat, which had rolled down +his cheeks and dripped from his nose, now seemed to coagulate in tiny, +oily globules. He put down a half-empty tumbler and stared at Pete. +"No man sleeps," he mumbled, as his lids drooped. Slowly his chin sank +to his chest and he slumped forward against the table. Pete started to +get up. Flores raised his head. "Drink--señor!" he murmured, and +slumped forward, knocking the tumbler over. A dark red line streaked +the table and dripped to the floor. + +Something moved in the kitchen doorway. Pete glanced up to see Boca +staring at him. He gestured toward her father. She nodded +indifferently and beckoned Pete to follow her. + +"I knew that you would think me a lie if I did not come," she told him, +as they stood near the old corral--Pete's impatience to be gone +evident, as he shouldered his saddle. "But you will not ride tonight. +You would die." + +"It's some hot--but I aim to go through." + +"But no--not to-night! For three days will it be like this! It is +terrible! And you have been ill." + +She pressed close to him and touched his arm. "Have I not been your +friend?" + +"You sure have! But honest, Boca, I got a hunch that it's time to fan +it. 'T ain't that I'm sore at your old man now--or want to leave +you--but I got a hunch somethin' is goin' to happen." + +"You think only of that Malvey. You do not think of me," complained +Boca. + +"I'm sure thinkin' of you every minute. It ain't Malvey that's +botherin' me now." + +"Then why do you not rest--and wait?" + +"Because restin' and waitin' is worse than takin" a chanct. I got to +go." + +"You must go?" + +Pete nodded. + +"But what if I will not find a horse for you?" + +"Then I reckon you been foolin' me right along." + +"That is not so!" Boca's hand dropped to her side and she turned from +him. + +"'Course it ain't! And say, Boca, I'll make it through all right. All +I want is a good hoss--and a canteen and some grub." + +"I have made ready the food and have a canteen for you--in my room." + +"Then let's go hunt up that cayuse." + +"It is that you will die--" she began; but Pete, irritated by argument +and the burning wind that droned through the cañon, put an end to it +all by dropping the saddle and taking her swiftly in his arms. He +kissed her--rather perfunctorily. "My little pardner!" he whispered. + +Boca, although sixteen and mature in a sense, was in reality little +more than a child. When Pete chose to assert himself, he had much the +stronger will. She felt that all pleading would be useless. "You have +the reata?" she queried, and turning led him past the corral and along +the fence until they came to the stream. A few hundred yards down the +stream she turned, and cautioning him to follow closely, entered a sort +of lateral cañon--a veritable box at whose farther end was Flores's +cache of horses, kept in this hidden pasture for any immediate need. +Pete heard the quick trampling of hoofs and the snort of startled +horses. + +"We will drive them on into the corral," said Boca. + +Pete could see but dimly, but he sensed the situation at once. The +cañon was a box, narrowing to a natural enclosure with the open end +fenced. He had seen such places--called "traps" by men who made a +business of catching wild horses. + +Several dim shapes bunched in the small enclosure, plunging and +circling as Pete found and closed the bars. + +"The yellow horse is of the desert--and very strong," said Boca. + +"They all look alike to me," laughed Pete. "It's mighty dark, right +now." He slipped through the bars and shook out his rope. The horses +crowded away from him as he followed. A shape reared and backed. Pete +flipped the noose and set his heels as the rope snapped taut. He held +barely enough slack to make the snubbing-post, but finally took a turn +round it and fought the horse up. "Blamed if he ain't the buckskin," +panted Pete. + +The sweat dripped from his face as he bridled and saddled the half-wild +animal. It was doubly hard work in the dark. Then he came to the +corral bars where Boca stood. "I'm all hooked up, Boca." + +"Then I shall go back for the cantina and the food." + +"I'll go right along with you. I'll wait at the other corral." + +Pete followed her and sat a nervous horse until she reappeared, with +the canteen and package of food. The hot wind purred and whispered +round them. Above, the stars struggled dimly through the haze. Pete +reached down and took her hand. She had barely touched his fingers +when the horse shied and reared. + +"If Malvey he kill you--I shall kill him!" she whispered fiercely. + +"I'm comin' back," said Pete. + +A shadow flung across the night; and Boca. was standing gazing into +the black wall through which the shadow had plunged. Far up the trail +she could hear quick hoofbeats, and presently above the drone of the +wind came a faint musical "Adios! Adios!" + +She dared not call back to him for fear of waking her father, in spite +of the fact that she knew he was drugged beyond all feeling and sound. +And she had her own good reason for caution. When Flores discovered +his best horse gone, there would be no evidence that would entangle her +or her mother in wordy argument with him for having helped the young +vaquero to leave--and against the direct commands of The Spider, who +had sent word to Flores through Malvey that Pete was to remain at the +rancho till sent for. + + +At the top of the cañon trail Pete reined in and tried to get his +bearings. But the horse, fighting the bit, seemed to have a clear idea +of going somewhere and in the general direction of Showdown. "You +ought to know the trail to Showdown," said Pete. "And you ain't tryin' +to git back home, so go to it! I'll be right with you." + +The heavy, hot wind seethed round him and he bent his head, tying his +bandanna across his nose and mouth. The buckskin bored into the night, +his unshod hoofs pattering softly on the desert trail. His first "fine +frenzy" done, he settled to a swinging trot that ate into the miles +ceaselessly. Twice during the ride Pete raised the canteen and +moistened his burning throat. Slowly he grew numb to the heat and the +bite of the whipping sand, and rode as one in a horrible dream. He had +been a fool to ride from comparative safety into this blind furnace of +burning wind. Why had he done so? And again and again he asked +himself this question, wondering if he were going mad. It had been +years and years since he had left the Flores rancho. There was a girl +there--Boca Dulzura--or had he dreamed of such a girl? Pete felt the +back of his head. "No, it wa'n't a dream," he told himself. + + +A ghastly dawn burned into Showdown, baring the town's ugliness as it +crept from 'dobe to 'dobe as though in search of some living thing to +torture with slow fire. The street was a wind-swept emptiness, smooth +with fine sand. Pete rode to the hitching-rail. The Spider's place +was dumb to his knocking. He staggered round to the western side of +the saloon and squatted on his heels. "Water that pony after a while," +he muttered. Strange flashes of light danced before his eyes. His +head pained dully and he ached all over for lack of sleep. A sudden +trampling brought him to his feet. He turned the corner of the saloon +just in time to see the buckskin lunge back. The reins snapped like a +thread. The pony shook its head and trotted away, circling. Pete +followed, hoping that the tangle of dragging rein might stop him. + +Half-dazed, Pete followed doggedly, but the horse started to run. Pete +staggered back to the hitching-rail, untied the end of the broken rein +and tossed it across the street. He did not know why he did this; he +simply did it mechanically. + +He was again afoot, weak and exhausted from his night's ride. "I +reckon that ole Mexican woman--was right," he muttered. "But I got one +pardner yet, anyhow," and his hand slid to his holster. "You and me +ag'in' the whole dam' town! God, it's hot." + +He slumped to the corner of the saloon and squatted, leaning against +the wall. He thought of Boca. He could hear her speak his name +distinctly. A shadow drifted across his blurred vision. He glanced +up. The Spider, naked to the waist, stood looking down at him, leanly +grotesque in the dawn light. + +"You 're going strong!" said The Spider. + +"I want Malvey," whispered Pete. + +The Spider's lips twitched. "You'll get some coffee and beans first. +Any man that's got enough sand to foot it from Flores here--can camp on +me _any_ time--coming or going." + + +"I'm workin' this case myself," stated Pete sullenly. + +"You play your own hand," said The Spider. And for once he meant it. +He could scarcely believe that Young Pete had made it across the desert +on foot--yet there was no horse in sight. If Young Pete could force +himself to such a pace and survive he would become a mighty useful tool. + +"Did Malvey play you?" queried The Spider. + +"You ought to know." + +"He said you were sick--down at Flores's rancho." + +"Then he's here!" And Pete's dulling eyes brightened. "Well, I ain't +as sick as he's goin' to be, Spider." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +"A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR" + +Pete was surprised to find the darkened saloon cooler than the open +desert, even at dawn; and he realized, after glancing about, that The +Spider had closed the doors and windows during the night to shut out +the heat. + +"In here," said The Spider, opening the door back of the bar. + +Pete followed, groping his way into The Spider's room. He started back +as a match flared. The Spider lighted a lamp. In the sudden soft glow +Pete beheld a veritable storehouse of plunder: gorgeous serapes from +Old Mexico--blankets from Tehuantepec and Oaxaca, rebosas of woven silk +and linen and wool, the cruder colorings of the Navajo and Hopi +saddle-blankets, war-bags and buckskin garments heavy with the beadwork +of the Utes and Blackfeet, a buffalo-hide shield, an Apache bow and +quiver of arrows, skins of the mountain lion and lynx, and hanging from +the beam-end a silver-mounted saddle and bridle and above it a Mexican +sombrero heavy with golden filigree. + +"You've rambled some," commented Pete. + +"Some. What's the matter with your head?" + +"Your friend Flores handed me one--from behind," said Pete. + +The Spider gestured toward a blanket-covered couch against the wall. +"Lay down there. No, on your face. Huh! Wait till I get some water." + +Pete closed his eyes. Presently he felt the light touch of fingers and +then a soothing coolness. He heard The Spider moving about the room. +The door closed softly. Pete raised his head. The room was dark. He +thought of Malvey and he wondered at The Spider's apparent solicitude. +He was in The Spider's hands--for good or ill . . . Sleep blotted out +all sense of being. + +Late that afternoon he awoke to realize that there was some one in the +room. He raised on his elbow and turned to see The Spider gazing down +at him with a peculiar expression--as though he were questioning +himself and awaiting an answer from some outside source. + +Pete stretched and yawned and grinned lazily. "Hello, pardner! I was +dreamin' of a friend of mine when I come to and saw"--Pete hesitated, +sat up and yawned again--"another friend that I wa'n't dreamin' about," +he concluded. + +"What makes you think I'm your friend?" queried The Spider. + +"Oh, hell, I dunno," said Pete, rubbing the back of his head and +grinning boyishly. "But there's no law ag'in' my feelin' that way, is +there? Doggone it, I'm plumb empty! Feel like my insides had been +takin' a day off and had come back just pawin' the air to git to work." + +"Malvey's in town." + +Pete's mouth hardened, then relaxed to a grin. + +"Well, if he's as hungry as I am he ain't worryin' about me." + +"He's got your horse." + +"That don't worry me none." + +"I told Malvey to get your horse from you and set you afoot at Flores'." + +"And he sure made a good job of it, didn't he? But I don't sabe your +game in hog-tyin' me down to Flores's place." + +"I figured you'd be safer afoot till you kind of cooled down." + +Pete tried to read The Spider's face, but it was as impersonal as the +desert itself. "Mebby you figured to hold me there till you was good +and ready to use me," said Pete. + +The Spider nodded. + +"Well, there's nothin' doin'. I ain't no killer or no hoss-thief +lookin' for a job. I got in bad up north--but I ain't lookin' for no +more trouble. If Malvey and me lock horns--that's my business. But +you got me wrong if you reckon I'm goin' to throw in with your outfit. +I kin pay for what I eat a couple of times, anyhow. But I ain't hirin' +out to no man." + +"Go back in the patio and Juan will get you some chuck," said The +Spider abruptly. + +"Which I'm payin' for," said Pete. + +"Which you're paying for," said The Spider. + +Following its usual course, the devil-wind died down suddenly at dusk +of the third day. A few Mexicans drifted into the saloon that evening +and following them several white men up from the border. Pete, who sat +in the patio where he could watch the outer doorway of the saloon, +smoked and endeavored to shape a plan for his future. He was vaguely +surprised that a posse had not yet ridden into Showdown; for The Spider +had said nothing of Houck and his men, and Pete was alert to that +contingency, in that he had planned to slip quietly from the patio to +the corral at the back, in case they did ride in, estimating that he +would have time to saddle a horse and get away before they could search +the premises, even if they went that far; and he doubted that they +would risk that much without The Spider's consent. Would The Spider +give such consent? Pete doubted it, not because he trusted The Spider +so much, but rather because the deliberate searching of premises by a +posse would break an established precedent, observed in more than one +desert rendezvous. That simple and eloquent statement, "Go right ahead +and search--but you'll search her in smoke," had backed down more than +one posse, as Pete knew. + +Already the monotony of loafing at The Spider's place had begun to wear +on Pete, who had slept much for two days and nights, and he was itching +to do something. He had thought of riding down and across the border +and had said so to The Spider, who had advised him against it. During +their talk Malvey's name was mentioned. Pete wondered why that +individual had chosen to keep from sight so long, not aware that The +Spider had sent word to Malvey, who was at Mescalero's ranch, a few +miles east of Showdown, that a posse from the Blue had ridden in and +might be somewhere in the vicinity. + +Little by little Pete began to realize that his present as well as his +future welfare depended on caution quite as much as upon sheer courage. +Insidiously The Spider's influence was working upon Pete, who saw in +him a gambler who played for big stakes with a coldness and +soullessness that was amazing--and yet Pete realized that there was +something hidden deep in The Spider's cosmos that was intensely human. +For instance, when Pete had given up the idea of crossing the border +and had expressed, as much by his countenance as his speech, his +imperative need to be out and earning a living, The Spider had offered +to put him to work on his ranch, which he told Pete was of considerable +extent, and lay just north of the national boundary and well out of the +way of chance visitors. "Cattle"--The Spider had said--"and some +horses." + +Pete thought he knew about how that ranch had been stocked, and why it +was located where it was. But then, cattle-stealing was not confined +to any one locality. Any of the boys riding for the Blue or the Concho +or the T-Bar-T were only too eager to brand a stray calf and consider +that they were but serving their employer's interests, knowing that +their strays were quite as apt to be branded by a rival outfit. So it +went among men supposed to be living under the law. + +The Spider's proffer of work was accepted, but Pete asserted that he +would not leave Showdown until he had got his horse. + +"I'll see that you get him," said The Spider. + +"Thanks. But I aim to git him myself." + +And it was shortly after this understanding that Pete sat in the patio +back of the saloon--waiting impatiently for Malvey to show up, and +half-inclined to go out and look for him. But experience had taught +Pete the folly of hot-headed haste, so, like The Spider, he withdrew +into himself, apparently indifferent to the loud talk of the men in the +saloon, the raw jokes and the truculent swaggering, with the +implication, voiced loudly by one half-drunken renegade, that the +stranger was a short-horn and naturally afraid to herd in with "the +bunch." + +"He's got business of his own," said The Spider. + +"That's different. I 'poligish." + +The men laughed, and the bibulous outlaw straightway considered himself +a wit. But those who carried their liquor better knew that The +Spider's interruption was significant. The young stranger was playing +a lone hand, and the rules of the game called for strict attention to +their own business. + +Presently a Mexican strode in and spoke to The Spider. The Spider +called to a man at one of the tables. The noisy talk ceased suddenly. +"One," said The Spider. "From the south." + +Pete heard and he shifted his position a little, approximating the +distance between himself and the outer doorway. Card-games were +resumed as before when a figure filled the doorway. Pete's hand slid +slowly to his hip. His fingers stiffened, then relaxed, as he got to +his feet. + +It was Boca--alone, and smiling in the soft glow of lamplight. The +Spider hobbled from behind the bar. Some one called a laughing +greeting. "It's Boca, boys! We'll sure cut loose to-night! When Boca +comes to town the bars is down!" + +Pete heard--and anger and surprise darkened his face. These men seemed +to know Boca too well. One of them had risen, leaving his card-game, +and was shaking hands with her. Another asked her to sing "La Paloma." +Even The Spider seemed gracious to her. Pete, leaning against the +doorway of the patio, stared at her as though offended by her presence. +She nodded to him and smiled. He raised his hat awkwardly. Boca read +jealousy in his eye. She was happy. She wanted him to care. "I +brought your saddle, señor," she said, nodding again. The men laughed, +turning to glance at Pete. Still Pete did not quite realize the +significance of her coming. "Thanks," he said abruptly. + +Boca deliberately turned her back on him and talked with The Spider. +She was hurt, and a little angry. Surely she had been his good friend. +Was Pete so stupid that he did not realize why she had ridden to +Showdown? + +The Spider, who had just learned why she was there, called to his +Mexican, who presently set a table in the patio. Slowly it dawned on +Pete that Boca had made a long ride--that she must be tired and hungry. +He felt ashamed of himself. She had been a friend to him when he +sorely needed a friend. And of course these men knew her. No doubt +they had seen her often at the Flores rancho. She had brought his +saddle back--which meant that she had found the buckskin, riderless, +and fearing that something serious had happened, had caught up the pony +and ridden to Showdown, alone, and no doubt against the wishes of her +father and mother. It was mighty fine of her! He had never realized +that girls did such things. Well, doggone it! he would let her know +that he was mighty proud to have such a pardner! + +The Spider hobbled to the patio and placed a chair for Boca, who +brushed past Pete as though he had not been there. + +"That's right!" laughed Pete. "But say, Boca, what made _me_ sore was +the way them hombres out there got fresh, joshin' you and askin' you to +sing, jest like they had a rope on you--" + +"You think of that Malvey?" + +"Well, I ain't forgittin' the way he--" + +Boca's eyes flashed. "Yes! But here it is different. The Spider, he +is my friend. It is that when I have rested and eaten he will ask me +to sing. Manuelo will play the guitar. I shall sing and laugh, for I +am no longer tired. I am happy. Perhaps I shall sing the song of 'The +Outlaw,' and for you." + +"I'll be listenin'--every minute, Boca. Mebby if I ain't jest +_lookin'_ at you--it'll be because--" + +"Si! Even like the caballero of whom I shall sing." And Boca hummed a +tune, gazing at Pete with unreadable eyes, half-smiling, half-sad. How +young, smooth-cheeked, and boyish he was, as he glanced up and returned +her smile. Yet how quickly his face changed as he turned his head +toward the doorway, ever alert for a possible surprise. Boca pushed +back her chair. "The guitar," she called, nodding to The Spider. + +Manuelo brought the guitar, tuned it, and sat back in the corner of the +patio. The men in the saloon rose and shuffled to where Boca stood, +seating themselves roundabout in various attitudes of expectancy. +Pete, who had risen, recalled The Spider's terse warning, and stepped +over to the patio doorway. Manuelo had just swept the silver strings +in a sounding prelude, when The Spider, behind the bar, gestured to +Pete. + +"No, it ain't Malvey," said The Spider, as Pete answered his abrupt +summons. "Here, take a drink while I talk. Keep your eye on the +front. Don't move your hands off the bar, for there's three men out +there, afoot, just beyond the hitching-rail. There was five, a minute +ago. I figure two of 'em have gone round to the back. Go ahead--drink +a little, and set your glass down, natural. I'm joshin' with you, +see!"--and The Spider grinned hideously. "Smile! Don't make a break +for the patio. The boys out there wouldn't understand, and Boca might +get hurt. She's goin' to sing. You turn slow, and listen. When your +back's turned, those hombres out there will step in." The Spider +laughed, as though at something Pete had said. "You're mighty +surprised to see 'em and you start to talk. Leave the rest to me." + +Pete nodded and lifted his glass. From the patio came the sound of +Boca's voice and the soft strumming of the guitar. Pete heard but +hardly realized the significance of the first line or two of the +song--and then: + + "A rider stood at the lamplit bar, + tugging the knot of his neckscarf loose, + While some one sang to the silver strings, + in the moonlight patio." + +It was the song of "The Outlaw." Pete turned slowly and faced the +patio. Manuelo swept the strings in a melodious interlude. Boca, her +vivid lips parted, smiled at Pete even as she began to sing again. +Pete could almost feel the presence of men behind him. He knew that he +was trapped, but he kept his gaze fixed on Boca's face. The Spider +spoke to some one--a word of surprised greeting. In spite of his hold +on himself Pete felt the sweat start on his lip and forehead. He was +curious as to what these men would look like; as to whether he would +know them. Perhaps they were not after him, but after some of the men +in the patio-- + +"Annersley!" + +Pete swung round, his hands up. He recognized two of the men--deputies +of Sheriff Sutton of Concho. The third man was unknown to him. + +"You're under arrest for the killing of Steve Gary." + +"How's that?" queried The Spider. + +"Steve Gary. This kid shot him--over to the Blue. We don't want any +trouble about this," continued the deputy. "We've got a couple of men +out back--" + +"There won't be any trouble," said The Spider. + +"No--there won't be any trouble," asserted Pete. "Gimme a drink, +Spider." + +"No, you don't!" said the deputy. "You got too many friends out +there," and he gestured toward the patio with his gun. + +"Not my friends," said Pete. + +Boca's song ended abruptly as she turned from her audience to glance in +Pete's direction. She saw him standing with upraised hands--and in +front of him three men--strangers to Showdown. + +Came the shuffling of feet as the men in the patio turned to see what +she was staring at. + +"Sit still!" called The Spider. "This ain't your deal, boys. They got +the man they want." + +But Boca, wide-eyed and trembling, stepped through the doorway. + +"That's close enough!" called a deputy. + +She paused, summoning all of her courage and wit to force a laugh. +"Si, señor. But you are mistaken. It is not that I care what you do +with _him_. I do but come for the wine for which I have asked, but +there was no one to bring it to me,"--and she stepped past the end of +the bar into The Spider's room. She reappeared almost instantly with a +bottle of wine. + +"I will open that for you," said The Spider. + +"Never mind!" said one of the deputies; "the lady seems to know how." + +Boca took a glass from the counter. "I will drink in the patio with my +friends." But as she passed round the end of the bar and directly +beneath the hanging lamp, she turned and paused. "But no! I will +drink once to the young vaquero, with whom is my heart and my life." +And she filled the glass and, bowing to Pete, put the glass to her lips. + +The deputy nearest Pete shrugged his shoulder. "This ain't a show." + +"Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle. It shivered +against the lamp. With the instant darkness came a streak of red and +the close roar of a shot. Pete, with his gun out and going, leapt +straight into the foremost deputy. They crashed down. Staggering to +his feet, Pete broke for the outer doorway. Behind him the room was a +pit of flame and smoke. Boca's pony reared as Pete jerked the reins +loose, swept into the saddle, and down the moonlit street. He heard a +shot and turned his head. In the patch of moonlight round The Spider's +place he saw the dim, hurrying forms of men and horses. He leaned +forward and quirted the pony with the rein-ends. + +[Illustration: "Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle.] + +Back in The Spider's place men grouped round a huddled something on the +floor. The Spider, who had fetched a lamp from his room, stooped and +peered into the upturned face of Boca. A dull, black ooze spread and +spread across the floor. + +"Boca!" he shrilled, and his face was hideous. + +"Did them coyotes git her?" + +"Who was it?" + +"Where's the kid?" + +The Spider straightened and held the lamp high. "Take her in there," +and he gestured toward his room. Two of the men carried her to the +couch and covered her with the folds of the serape which had slipped +from her shoulders as she fell. + +"Say the word, Spider, and we'll ride 'em down!" It was "Scar-Face" +who spoke, a man notorious even among his kind. + +The Spider, strangely quiet, shook his head. "They'll ride back here. +They were after Young Pete. She smashed the lamp to give him a chance +to shoot his way out. They figured he'd break for the back--but he +went right into 'em. They don't know yet that they got her. And he +don't know it." He hobbled round to the back of the bar. "Have a +drink, boys, and then I'm going to close up till--" and he indicated +his room with a movement of the head. + +Young Pete, riding into the night, listened for the sound of running +horses. Finally he pulled his pony to a walk. He had ridden north--up +the trail which the posse had taken to Showdown, and directly away from +where they were searching the desert for him. And as Pete rode, he +thought continually of Boca. Unaware of what had happened--yet he +realized that she had been in great danger. This worried him--an +uncertainty that became an obsession--until he could no longer master +it with reason. He had ridden free from present hazard, unscratched +and foot-loose, with many hours of darkness before him in which to +evade the posse. He would be a fool to turn back. And yet he did, +slowly, as though an invisible hand were on his bridle-rein; forcing +him to ride against his judgment and his will. He reasoned, shrewdly, +that the posse would be anywhere but at The Spider's place, just then. + +In an hour he had returned and was knocking at the door, surprised that +the saloon was closed. + +At Pete's word, the door opened. The Spider, ghastly white in the +lamplight, blinked his surprise. + +"Playin' a hunch," stated Pete. And, "Boca here?" he queried, as he +entered. + +"In there," said The Spider, and he took the lamp from the bar. + +"What's the use of wakin' her?" said Pete. "I come back--I got a +hunch--that somethin' happened when I made my get-away. But if she's +all right--" + +"You won't wake her," said The Spider, and his voice sounded strange +and far-away. "You better go in there." + +A hot flash shot through Pete. Then came the cold sweat of a dread +anticipation. He followed The Spider to where Boca lay on the couch, +as though asleep. Pete turned swiftly, questioning with his eyes. The +Spider set the lamp on the table and backed from the room. Breathing +hard, Pete stepped forward and lifted a corner of the serape. Boca's +pretty mouth smiled up at him--but her eyes were as dead pools in the +night. + +The full significance of that white face and those dull, unseeing eyes, +swept through him like a flame. "Pardner!" he whispered, and flung +himself on his knees beside her, his shadow falling across her head and +shoulders. In the dim light she seemed to be breathing. Long he gazed +at her, recalling her manner as she had raised her glass: "I drink to +the young vaquero, with whom is my heart--_and my life_." + +Dully Pete wondered why such things should happen; why he had not been +killed instead of the girl, and which one of the three deputies had +fired the shot that had killed her. But no one could ever know +that--for the men had all fired at him when the lamp crashed down--yet +he, closer to them than Boca, had broken through their blundering +fusillade. He knew that Boca had taken a great risk--and that she must +have known it also. And she had taken that risk that he might win free. + +Too stunned and shaken to reason it out to any definite conclusion, +Pete characteristically accepted the facts as they were as he thrust +aside all thought of right or wrong and gave himself over to tearless +mourning for that which Boca had been. That dead thing with dark, +staring eyes and faintly smiling lips was not Boca. But where was she +then? + +Slowly the lamplight paled as dawn fought through the heavy shadows of +the room. The door swung open noiselessly. The Spider glanced in and +softly closed the door again. + +The Spider, he of the shriveled heart and body, did the most human +thing he had done for years. At the little table opposite the bar he +sat with brandy and a glass and deliberately drank until he felt +neither the ache of his old wounds nor the sting of this fresh thrust +of fate. Then he knew that he was drunk, but that his keen, crooked +mind would obey his will, unfeelingly, yet with no hesitation and no +stumbling. + +He rose and hobbled to the outer door. A vagrant breeze stirred the +stale air in the room. Back in the patio his Mexican, Manuelo, lay +snoring, wrapped in a tattered blanket. The Spider turned from the +doorway and gazed at the sanded spot on the floor, leaning against the +bar and drumming on its edge with his nervous fingers. "He'll see her +in every night-fire when he's alone--and he'll talk to her. He will +see her face among the girls in the halls--and he'll go cold and speak +her name, and then some girl will laugh. He will eat out his heart +thinking of her--and what she did for him. He's just a kid--but when +he comes out of that room . . . he won't give a damn if he's bumped off +or not. He'll play fast--and go through every time! God! I ought to +know!" + +The Spider turned and gazed across the morning desert. Far out rode a +group of men. One of them led a riderless horse. The Spider's thin +lips twisted in a smile. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +"PLANTED--OUT THERE" + +Malvey, loafing at the ranch of Mescalero, received The Spider's +message about the posse with affected indifference. He had Pete's +horse in his possession, which in itself would make trouble should he +be seen. When he learned from the messenger that Young Pete was in +Showdown, he fumed and blustered until evening, when he saddled Blue +Smoke and rode south toward the Flores rancho. From Flores's place he +would ride on south, across the line to where he could always find +employment for his particular talents. Experience had taught him that +it was useless to go against The Spider, whose warning, whether it were +based on fact or not, was a hint to leave the country. + +The posse from Concho, after circling the midnight desert and failing +to find any trace of Pete, finally drew together and decided to wait +until daylight made it possible to track him. As they talked together, +they saw a dim figure coming toward them. Swinging from their course, +they rode abruptly down a draw. Four of them dismounted. The fifth, +the chief deputy, volunteered to ride out and interview the horseman. +The four men on foot covered the opening of the draw, where the trail +passed, and waited. + +The deputy sat his horse, as though waiting for some one. Malvey at +once thought of Young Pete--then of The Spider's warning--and finally +that the solitary horseman might be some companion from below the +border, cautiously awaiting his approach. Half-inclined to ride wide, +he hesitated--then loosening his gun he spurred his restless pony +toward the other, prepared to "bull" through if questioned too closely. + +Within thirty feet of the deputy Malvey reined in. "You're ridin' +late," he said, with a forced friendliness in his voice. + +"This the trail to Showdown?" queried the deputy. + +"This is her. Lookin' for anybody in particular?" + +"Nope. And I reckon nobody is lookin' for me. I'm ridin my own horse." + +It was a chance shot intended to open the way to a parley--and identify +the strange horseman by his voice, if possible. It also was a +challenge, if the unknown cared to accept it as such. Malvey's slow +mind awakened to the situation. A streak of red flashed from his hand +as he spurred straight for the deputy, who slipped from his saddle and +began firing over it, shielded by his pony. A rifle snarled in the +draw. Malvey jerked straight as a soft-nosed slug tore through him. +Another slug shattered his thigh. Cursing, he lunged sideways, as Blue +Smoke bucked. Malvey toppled and fell--an inert bulk in the dim light +of the stars. + +The chief deputy struck a match and stooped. "We got the wrong man," +he called to his companions. + +"It's Bull Malvey," said one of the deputies as the match flickered +out. "I knew him in Phoenix." + +"Heard of him. He was a wild one," said another deputy. + +"Comin' and goin'! One of The Spider's bunch, and a hoss-thief right! +I reckon we done a good job." + +"He went for his gun," said the chief. + +"We had him covered from the start," asserted a deputy. "He sure won't +steal no more hosses." + +"Catch up his cayuse," commanded the chief deputy. + +Two of them, after a hard ride, finally put Blue Smoke within reach of +a rope. He was led back to where Malvey lay. + +"Concho brand!" exclaimed the chief. + +"Young Pete's horse," asserted another. + +"There'll be hell to pay if Showdown gets wise to what happened to Bull +Malvey," said the deputy, who recognized the dead outlaw. + +Dawn was just breaking when the chief deputy, disgusted with what he +termed their "luck," finally evolved a plan out of the many discussed +by his companions. "We got the cayuse--which will look good to the +T-Bar-T boys. We ain't down here for our health and we been up against +it from start to finish--and so far as I care, this is the finish. Get +it right afore we start. Young Pete is dead. We got his horse." He +paused and glanced sharply at Blue Smoke. "He's got the Concho brand!" +he exclaimed. + +"Young Pete's horse was a blue roan," said a deputy. "I guess this is +him--blue roan with a white blaze on his nose--so Cotton told me." + +"Looks like it!" said the chief deputy. "Well, say we got his horse, +then. We're in luck for once." + +"Now it's easy diggin' down there in the draw. And it's gettin' +daylight fast. I reckon that's Malvey's saddle and bridle on the blue +roan. We'll just cover up all evidence of who was ridin' this hoss, +drift into Showdown and eat, and then ride along up north and collect +that reward. We'll split her even--and who's goin' to say we didn't +earn it?" + +"Suits me," said a deputy. His companions nodded. + +"Then let's get busy. The sand's loose here. We can drag a blanket +over this--and leave the rest to the coyotes." + +They scraped a long, shallow hole in the arroyo-bed and buried Malvey +along with his saddle and bridle. + + +The Spider smiled as he saw them coming. He was still smiling as he +watched them ride up the street and tie their tired ponies to the +hitching-rail. He identified the led horse as the one Malvey had +stolen from Pete. + +"I see you got him," he said in his high-pitched voice. + +The chief deputy nodded. "He's planted--out there." + +"I meant the horse," said The Spider. + +Ordinarily, The Spider was a strange man. The posse thought him +unusually queer just then. His eyes seemed dulled with a peculiar +faint, bluish film. His manner was over-deliberate. There was +something back of it all that they could not fathom. Moreover, the +place was darkened. Some one had hung blankets over the windows. The +deputies--four of them--followed The Spider into the saloon. + +"I guess you boys want to eat," said The Spider. + +"We sure do." + +"All right. I'll have Manuelo get you something." And he called to +the Mexican, telling him to place a table in the private room--The +Spider's own room, back of the bar. While the Mexican prepared +breakfast, the posse accepted their chief's invitation to have a drink, +which they felt they needed. Presently The Spider led the way to his +room. The deputies, somewhat suspicious, hesitated on the threshold as +they peered in. A lamp was burning on the table. There were plates, +knives and forks, a coffee-pot, a platter of bacon . . . Beyond the +lamp stood Young Pete, his back toward the couch and facing them. His +eyes were like the eyes of one who walks in his sleep. + +The Spider held up his hand. "You're planted--out there. These +gentlemen say so. So you ain't here!" + +Pete's belt and gun lay on the floor. The Spider was in his +shirt-sleeves and apparently unarmed. + +The chief deputy sized up the situation in a flash and pulled his gun. +"I guess we got you--this trip, Pete." + +"No," said The Spider. "You're wrong. He's planted--out there. What +you staring at, boys? Pete, stand over there. Come right in, boys! +Come on in! I got something to show you." + +"Watch the door, Jim," said the chief. "Ed, you keep your eye on The +Spider." The chief deputy stepped to the table and peered across it at +a huddled something on the couch, over which was thrown a shimmering +serape. He stepped round the table and lifted a corner of the serape. +Boca's sightless eyes stared up at him. + +"Christ!" he whispered. "It's the girl!" And even as he spoke he knew +what had happened--that he and his men were responsible for this. His +hand shook as he turned toward The Spider. + +"She--she ran into it when she-- It's pretty tough, but--" + +"Your breakfast is waiting," said The Spider. + +"This was accidental," said the deputy, recovering himself, and +glancing from one to another of his men. Then he turned to Pete. +"Pete, you'll have to ride back with us." + +"No," said The Spider with a peculiar stubborn shrug of his shoulders. +"He's planted out there. You said so." + +"That's all right, Spider. We made a mistake. This is the man we +want." + +"Then who is planted out there?" queried The Spider in a soft, +sing-song voice, high-pitched and startling. + +"That's our business," stated the deputy. + +"No--mine!" The Spider glanced past the deputy, who turned to face a +Mexican standing in the doorway. The Mexican's hands were held belt +high and they were both "filled." + +"Get the first man that moves," said The Spider in Mexican. And as he +spoke his own hand flashed to his armpit, and out again like the stroke +of a snake. Behind his gun gleamed a pair of black, beady eyes, as +cold as the eyes of a rattler. The deputy read his own doom and the +death of at least two of his men should he move a muscle. He had Young +Pete covered and could have shot him down; Pete was unarmed. The +deputy lowered his gun. + +Pete blinked and drew a deep breath. "Give me a gun, Spider--and we'll +shoot it out with 'em, right here." + +The Spider laughed. "No. You're planted out there. These gents say +so. I'm working this layout." + +"Put up your gun, Ed," said the chief, addressing the deputy who had +The Spider covered. "He's fooled us, proper." + +"Let 'em out, one at a time," and The Spider gestured to the Mexican, +Manuelo. "And tell your friends," he continued, addressing the chief +deputy, "that Showdown is run peaceful _and that I run her_." + +When they were gone The Spider turned to Pete. "Want to ride back to +Concho?" + +Pete, who had followed The Spider to the saloon, did not seem to hear +the question. Manuelo was already sweeping out with a broom which he +had dipped in a water-bucket--as casually busy as though he had never +had a gun in his hand. Something in the Mexican's supreme indifference +touched Pete's sense of humor. He shrugged his shoulders. + +"Who's goin' to tell her father?" he queried, gesturing toward the +inner room. + +"He knows," said The Spider, who stood staring at the Mexican. + +"You're drunk," said Pete. + +"Maybe I'm drunk," echoed The Spider. "But I'm her father." + +Pete stepped forward and gazed into The Spidery scarred and lined face. +"Hell!" Then he thrust out his hand. "Spider, I reckon I'll throw in +with you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE OLLA + +The Spider's system of bookkeeping was simple, requiring neither pen +nor paper, journal nor day-book. He kept a kind of mental loose-leaf +ledger with considerable accuracy, auditing his accounts with +impartiality. For example, Scar-Face and three companions just up from +the border recently had been credited with twenty head of Mexican +cattle which were now grazing on The Spider's border ranch, the Olla. +Scar-Face had attempted to sell the cattle to the leader of a Mexican +faction whose only assets at the time were ammunition and hope. +Scar-Face had met this chieftain by appointment at an abandoned +ranch-house. Argument ensued. The Mexican talked grandiloquently of +"Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality." Scar-Face held out for cash. The +Mexican leader needed beef. Scar-Face needed money. As he had rather +carelessly informed the Mexican that he could deliver the cattle +immediately, and realizing his mistake,--for he knew that the Mexican +would straightway summon his retainers and take the cattle in the name +of "Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality,"--Scar-Face promptly shot this +self-appointed savior of Mexico, mortally wounded one of his two +companions, and finally persuaded the other to help drift the cattle +north with a promise of a share of the profits of the enterprise. + +The surviving Mexican rode to Showdown with Scar-Face and his +companions, received his share of the sale in cash,--which he +squandered at The Spider's place,--and straightway rode back across the +border to rejoin his captainless comrades and appoint himself their +leader, gently insinuating that he himself had shot the captain whom he +had apprehended in the treachery of betraying them to a rival +aggregation of ragged Liberties, Fraternities, and Equalities. + +The Spidery mental ledger read: "Scar-Face--Debit, chuck, liquor, and +lodging"--an account of long standing--"and forty dollars in cash. +Credit--twenty head of cattle, brand unknown." + +Scar-Face's account was squared--for the time being. + +Pete was also on The Spider's books, and according to The Spider's +system of accounts, Pete was heavily in debt to him. Not that The +Spider would have ever mentioned this, or have tried to collect. But +when he offered Pete a job on his ranch he shrewdly put Pete in the way +of meeting his obligations. + +Cattle were in demand, especially in Mexico, so ravaged by lawless +soldiery that there was nothing left to steal. One outlaw chieftain, +however, was so well established financially that his agents were able +to secure supplies from a mysterious source and pay for them with gold, +which also came from an equally mysterious source--and it was with +these agents that The Spider had had his dealings. His bank account in +El Paso was rolling up fast. Thus far he had been able to supply beef +to the hungry liberators of Mexico; but beef on the hoof was becoming +scarce on both sides of the border. Even before Pete had come to +Showdown, The Spider had perfected a plan to raid the herds of the +northern ranches. Occasional cowboys drifting to Showdown had given +him considerable information regarding the physical characteristics of +the country roundabout these ranches, the water-holes, trails, and +grazing. + +The Spider knew that he could make only one such raid, with any chance +of success. If he made a drive at all, it would be on a big scale. +The cattlemen would eventually trail the first stolen herd to his +ranch. True, they would not find it there. He would see to it that +the cattle were pushed across the border without delay. But a second +attempt would be out of the question. The chief factor in the success +of the scheme would be the prompt handling of the herd upon its +arrival. He had cowboys in his employ who would steal the cattle. +What he needed was a man whom he could rely upon to check the tally and +turn the herd over to the agents of the Mexican soldiery and collect +the money on the spot, while his cowboys guarded the herd from a +possible raid by the Mexicans themselves. He knew that should the +northern ranchmen happen to organize quickly and in force, they would +not hesitate to promptly lynch the raiders, burn his buildings, take +all his horses worth taking, and generally put the ranch out of +business. + +Thus far the ranch had paid well as a sort of isolated clearing-house +for The Spider's vicarious accounts. The cowboys who worked there were +picked men, each of whom received a straight salary, asked no +questions, and rode with a high-power rifle under his knee and a keen +eye toward the southern ranches. + +Pete, riding south, bore an unsigned letter from The Spider, with +instructions to hand it to the foreman of "The Olla" and receive +further instructions from that gentleman. Pete knew nothing of the +contemplated raid, The Spider shrewdly surmising that Pete would balk +at the prospect of stealing cattle from his own countrymen. And it was +because of this very fact that The Spider had intrusted Pete--by letter +to the foreman--with the even greater responsibility of receiving the +money for the cattle and depositing it in a certain bank in El Paso. +Heretofore, such payments had been made to The Spider's representative +in that city--the president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings +Bank--who had but recently notified The Spider that he could no longer +act in the capacity of agent on account of local suspicion, already +voiced in the current newspapers. Hereafter The Spider would have to +deal directly with the Mexican agents. And The Spider unhesitatingly +chose Pete as his representative, realizing that Pete was shrewdly +capable, fearless, and to be trusted. + +Toward evening of the third day out of Showdown, Pete came upon a most +unexpected barrier to his progress--a wire fence stretching east and +west; a seemingly endless succession of diminishing posts. He +estimated that there must he at least forty thousand acres under fence. +According to location, this was The Spider's ranch--the Olla--Pete +reined around and rode along the fence for a mile or so, searching for +a gateway; but the taut barbed wire ran on and on, toward a sun that +was rounding swiftly down to the western horizon. He dismounted and +pulled the staples from several lengths of wire until he had enough +slack to allow the top wire to touch the ground. He stood on the wires +and jockeyed Blue Smoke across, tied him to a post, and tacked the wire +back in place. + +Headed south again, he had just passed a clump of chaparral when up +from the draw came a tall, muscular cowboy, riding a big horse--and a +fast one, thought Pete. + +"Evenin'," drawled the cowboy--a slow-speaking Texan, who was evidently +waiting for Pete to explain his presence. + +"How!--Is this here the Olla ranch?" + +"One end of her." + +"I'm lookin' for the foreman." + +"What name did you say?" + +"I didn't say." + +"What's your business down this way?" queried the cowboy. + +"It's mine. I dunno as it's any of yours." + +"So? Now, that's mighty queer! Lookin' for the fo'man, eh? Well, go +ahead and look--they's plenty of room." + +"Too much," laughed Pete. "Reckon I got to bush here and do my huntin' +in the mornin'--only"--and Pete eyed the other significantly--"I kind +of hate to bush on the ground. I was bit by a spider onct--" + +"A spider, eh? Now that's right comical. What kind of a spider was it +that bit you?" + +"Trap-door spider. Only this here one was always home." + +"So?" drawled the Texan. "Now, that's right funny. I was bit by a +rattler once. Got the marks on my arm yet." + +"Well, if it comes to a showdown, that there spider bite--" + +"The ranch-house is yonder," said the Texan. "Just you ride along the +way you're headed. That's a pretty horse you're settin' on. If it +wa'n't so dark I'd say he carried the Concho brand." + +"That's him," said Pete. + +"He's a long jump from home, friend." + +"And good for twice that distance, neighbor." + +"You sure please me most to death," drawled the Texan. + +"Then I reckon you might call in that there coyote in the brush over +there that's been holdin' a gun on me ever since we been talkin',"--and +Pete gestured with his bridle hand toward the clump of chaparral. + +"Sam," called the Texan, "he says he don't like our way of welcomin' +strangers down here. He's right friendly, meetin' one man at a +time--but he don't like a crowd, nohow." + +A figure loomed in the dusk--a man on foot who carried a rifle across +his arm. Pete could not distinguish his features, but he saw that the +man was tall, booted and spurred, and evidently a line-rider with the +Texan. + +"This here young stinging-lizard says he wants to see the fo'man, Sam. +Kin you help him out?" + +"Go ahead and speak your piece," said the man with the rifle. + +"She's spoke," said Pete. + +"I'm the man you're huntin'," asserted the other. + +"You foreman?" + +"The same." + +"Thought you was jest a hand--ridin' fence, mebby." And as Pete spoke +he rolled a cigarette. His pony shied at the flare of the match, but +Pete caught an instant glimpse of a lean-faced, powerfully built man of +perhaps fifty years or more who answered The Spider's description of +the foreman. "I got a letter here for Sam Brent, foreman of the Olla," +said Pete. + +"Now you're talkin' business." + +"His business," laughed the Texan. + +"Nope--The Spider's," asserted Pete. + +"Your letter will keep," said the foreman. "Ed, you drift on along +down the fence till you meet Harper. Tell him it's all right." And +the foreman disappeared in the dusk to return astride a big cowhorse. +"We'll ride over to the house," said he. + +Pete estimated that they had covered three or four miles before the +ranch-buildings came in sight--a dim huddle of angles against the +starlit sky. To his surprise the central building was roomy and +furnished with a big table, many chairs, and a phonograph, while the +floor was carpeted with Navajo blankets, and a big shaded hanging lamp +illumined the table on which were scattered many dog-eared magazines +and a few newspapers. Pete had remarked upon the stables while turning +his own horse into the corral. "We got some fast ones," was all that +the foreman chose to say, just then. + +Pete and the foreman had something to eat in the chuck-house, and +returned to the larger building. Brent read The Spider's letter, +rolled the end of his silver-gray mustache between his thumb and +forefinger, and finally glanced up. "So, you're Pete Annersley?" + +"That's my name." + +"Have a chair. You're right young to be riding alone. How did you +come to throw in with The Spider?" + +Pete hesitated. Why should he tell this man anything other than that +he had been sent by The Spider with the letter which--he had been +told--would explain his presence and embody his instructions? + +"Don't he say in that letter?" queried Pete. + +"He says you were mixed up in a bank robbery over to Enright," stated +the foreman. + +"That's a dam' lie!" flared Pete. + +"I reckon you'll do," said Brent, as he folded the letter. The Spider +had made that very statement in his letter to Brent for the purpose of +finding out, through the foreman, whether or not Pete had taken it upon +himself to read the letter before delivering it. And Brent, aware of +The Spider's methods, realized at once why his chief had misstated the +facts. It was evident that Pete had not read the letter, otherwise he +would most probably have taken his cue from The Spider's assertion +about the bank robbery and found himself in difficulties, for directly +after the word "Enright" was a tiny "x"--a code letter which meant +"This is not so." + +"Reckon I'll do what?" queried Pete. "Let The Spider or anybody like +him run a whizzer on me after I run a good hoss ragged to git here with +his doggone letter--and then git stuck up like I was a hoss-thief? You +got another guess, uncle." + +The old cowman's eyes twinkled. "You speak right out in meetin', don't +you, son?" His drawl was easy and somehow reminded Pete of Pop +Annersley. "Now there's some wouldn't like that kind of talk--even +from a kid." + +"I'd say it to The Spider as quick as I would to you," asserted Pete. + +"Which might be takin' a chance, both ways." + +"Say"--and Pete smiled--"I guess I been talkin' pretty fast, I was some +het up. The Spider used me as white as he could use anybody, I reckon. +But ever since that killin' up to his place, I been sore at the whole +doggone outfit runnin' this here world. What does a fella git, anyhow, +for stickin' up for himself, if he runs against a killer? He gits +bumped off--or mebby he kills the other fella and gits run out of the +country or hung. Pardners stick, don't they? Well, how would it git +you if you had a pardner that--well, mebby was a girl and she got +killed by a bunch of deputies jest because she was quick enough to +spoil their game? Would you feel like shakin' hands with every doggone +hombre you met up with, or like tellin' him to go to hell and sendin' +him there if he was lookin to argue with you? I dunno. Mebby I'm +wrong--from the start--but I figure all a fella gits out of this game +is a throwdown, comin' or goin'--'for the deck is stacked and the wheel +is crooked." + +"I was fifty-six last February," said Brent. + +"And how many notches you got on your gun?" queried Pete. + +"Oh, mebby two, three," drawled the foreman. + +"That's it! Say you started in callin' yourself a growed man when you +was twenty. Every ten years you had to hand some fella his finish to +keep from makin' yours. 'Got to kill to live,' is right!" + +"Son, you got a good horse, and yonder is the whole State of Texas, +where a man can sure lose himself without tryin' hard. There's plenty +of work down there for a good cow-hand. And a man's name ain't printed +on his face. Nobody's got a rope on you." + +"I git you," said Pete. "But I throwed in with The Spider--and that +goes." + +"That's your business--and as you was sayin' your business ain't mine. +But throwin' a fast gun won't do you no good round here." + +"Oh, I don't claim to be so doggone fast," stated Pete. + +"Faster than Steve Gary?" + +Pete's easy glance centered to a curious, tense gaze which was fixed on +the third button of Brent's shirt. "What about Steve Gary?" asked +Pete, and even Brent, old hand as he was, felt the sinister +significance in that slow question. The Spider's letter had said to +"give him a try-out," which might have meant almost anything to a +casual reader, but to Brent it meant just what he had been doing that +evening--seeking for a weak spot in Pete's make-up, if there were such, +before hiring him. + +"My gun is in the bedroom," said Brent easily. + +"Well, Gary's wasn't," said Pete. + +"We ain't had a gun-fight on this ranch since I been foreman," said +Brent. "And we got some right fast men, at that. Seein' you're goin' +to work for me a spell, I'm goin' to kind of give you a line on things. +You can pick your own string of horses--anything that you can get your +rope on that ain't branded 'J.E.', which is pet stock and no good at +workin' cattle. You met up with Ed Brevoort this evenin'. Well, you +can ride fence with Ed and he'll show you the high spots and +hollows--and the line--south. If you run onto any strangers ridin' too +close to the line, find out what they want. If you can't find out, get +word to me. That goes for strangers. But if you get to arguin' with +any of my boys--talk all you like--but don't start a smoke--_for you +won't get away with it_. The Spider ain't payin' guns to shoot up his +own outfit. If you're lookin' for real trouble, all you got to do is +to ride south acrost the line--and you'll find it. And you're gettin' +a straight hundred a month and your keep as long as you work for the +Olla." + +"Which is some different from takin' my hoss and fannin' it easy for +Texas," said Pete, grinning. + +"Some different," said Brent. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +OVER THE LINE + +Few cattle grazed across the Olla's well-fenced acres--and these cattle +were of a poor strain, lean Mexican stock that would never run into +weight as beef. Pete had expected to see many cattle--and much work to +be done. Instead, there were few cattle; and as for work--he had been +put to riding line with big Ed Brevoort. For two weeks he had done +nothing else. Slowly it dawned upon Pete that The Spider's ranch was +little more than a thoroughfare for the quick handling of occasional +small bands of cattle from one questionable owner to another. He saw +many brands, and few of them were alike, and among them none that were +familiar. Evidently the cattle were from the south line. The +saddle-stock was branded "J.E." and "The Olla." These brands appeared +on none of the cattle that Pete had seen. About a month after his +arrival, and while he was drifting slowly along the fence with +Brevoort, Pete caught sight of a number of horsemen, far out beyond the +ranch-line, riding slowly toward the north. He spoke to Brevoort, who +nodded. "We're like to be right busy soon." + +Brevoort and Pete rode to the ranch-house that evening to get supplies +for their line shack. The place was all but deserted. The cook was +there--and the Mexican José who looked after the "fast ones" in the +stables; but Brent, Harper, Sandy Bell, and the rest of the men were +gone. Pete thought of the horsemen that he had seen--and of Brevoort's +remark, that they would "be right busy soon." Pete wondered how soon, +and how busy. + +The day after the departure of the men, Brevoort told Pete that they +would take turn about riding the north line, in an eight-hour shift, +and he cautioned Pete to be on the lookout for a messenger riding a bay +horse--"Not a cow-horse, but a thoroughbred." + +This was at the line shack. + +Several nights later, as Pete was riding his line, he noticed that Blue +Smoke occasionally stopped and sniffed, and always toward the north. +Near the northwestern angle of the fence, Pete thought he could hear +the distant drumming of hoofs. Blue Smoke fretted and fought the bit. +Pete dismounted and peered into the darkness. The rhythmic stride of a +running horse came to him--not the quick patter of a cow-pony, but the +long, sweeping stride of a racer. + +Then out of the night burst a rider on a foam-flecked horse that reared +almost into the gate, which Pete unlooped and dragged back. + +"That you, Brevoort?" called the horseman. + +"He's at the shack," Pete shouted, as the other swept past. + +"Looks like we're goin' to be right busy," reflected Pete as he swung +to the saddle. "We'll jest jog over to the shack and report." + +When he arrived at the line shack, Brevoort was talking with the +hard-riding messenger. Near them stood the thoroughbred, his flanks +heaving, his neck sweat-blackened, his sides quivering with fatigue. +He had covered fifty miles in five hours. + +"--and countin' the Concho stuff--I'd say something like two hundred +head," the messenger was saying. "Brent'll be in to-morrow, long 'bout +noon. So far, she worked slick. No trouble and a show of gettin' +through without any trouble. Not much young stock, so they're drivin' +fast." + +Brevoort turned to Pete. "Take this horse over to the corral. Tell +Moody that Harper is in, and that the boys will be here in a couple of +days. He'll know what to do." + +Pete rode at a high lope, leading the thoroughbred, and wondering why +the messenger had not gone on to the corral. Moody, the cook, a +grizzled, heavy-featured man, too old for hard riding, expressed no +surprise at Pete's message, but awakened the Mexican stableman and told +him to fetch up a "real one," which the Mexican did with alertness, +returning to the house leading another sleek and powerful thoroughbred. +"Take him over to the shack," said Moody. "Harper wants him." And he +gave Pete a package of food which he had been preparing while the +Mexican was at the stable. + +When Pete returned to the line shack he found Brevoort sitting in the +doorway smoking, and the messenger asleep on the ground, his head on +his saddle. + +"Here's your horse," said Brevoort, "and some chuck." + +Harper sat up quickly, too quickly for a man who had ridden as far as +he had. Pete wondered at the other's hardihood and grit, for Harper +was instantly on his feet and saddling the fresh horse, and +incidentally cursing the Olla, Brent, and the universe in general, with +a gusto which bespoke plenty of unspoiled vigor. + +"Tell Brent the coast is clear," said Brevoort as Harper mounted. + +They could hear his horse getting into his stride long before the sound +of his hoofbeats was swallowed up in the abyss of the night. + +Pete turned in. Brevoort rode out to drift along the line fence until +daylight. + +And Pete dreamed strange dreams of night-riders who came and went +swiftly and mysteriously; and of a dusty, shuffling herd that wound its +slow way across the desert, hazed by a flitting band of armed riders +who continually glanced back as though fearful of pursuit. Suddenly +the dream changed. He was lying on a bed in a long, white-walled room, +dimly lighted by a flickering gas-jet, and Boca stood beside him gazing +down at him wistfully. He tried to speak to her, but could not. Nor +did she speak to him, but laid her hand on his forehead, pressing down +his eyelids. Her hand was dry and hot. Pete tried to open his +eyes--to raise his hand, to speak. Although his eyes were closed and +Boca's hot hand was pressed down on them, Pete knew that round-about +was a light and warmth of noonday . . . Boca's hand drew back--and +Pete lay staring straight into the morning sun which shone through the +open doorway. In the distance he could see Brevoort riding slowly +toward him. Pete raised on his elbow and threw back the blankets. As +he rose and pulled on his overalls he thought of the messenger. He +knew that somewhere back on the northern trail the men of the Olla were +pushing a herd of cattle slowly south,--cattle from the T-Bar-T, the +Blue, and . . . he suddenly recalled Harper's remark--"And countin' the +Concho stuff . . ." Pete thought of Jim Bailey and Andy White, and of +pleasant days riding for the Concho. But after all, it was none of his +affair. He had had no hand in stealing the cattle. He would do well +enough to keep his own hide whole. Let the cattlemen who lived under +the law take care of their own stock and themselves. And curiously +enough, Pete for the first time wondered what had become of Malvey--if +the posse had actually shot him, or if they had simply taken the horse +and let Malvey go. The arrival of Brevoort put an end to his pondering. + +"Brent will be in to-day," said Brevoort. "You stick around here; and +call me about noon." + +"The old man ain't takin' chances," remarked Pete. + +"You're wrong there," asserted Brevoort. "He's takin' the long chance +every time, or he wouldn't be foreman of this outfit. You'll find that +out if you stick round here long enough. If you don't call it takin' a +chance pullin' off a trick like this one that's comin', jest try it +yourself." + +"He handles men easy," asserted Pete, recalling Brent's rather fatherly +advice in regard to Texas and the opportunity for a young man to go +straight. + +"You sure please me most to death," drawled Brevoort. "You been a +right quiet little pardner, and smilin', so I'm going to tell you +somethin' that you can keep right on bein' quiet about. Sam Brent +would send you or me or any man into a gun-fight, or a posse, or a +jail, and never blink his eye, if he thought it was good business for +him. He'd do it pleasant, too, jest like he was sendin' you to a +dance, or a show. But he'd go jest as quick hisself, if he had to." + +"Then I guess we got no kick," said Pete. + +"I ain't kickin'. I'm jest puttin' you wise." + +"I ain't forgittin', Ed." + +Pete turned, following Brevoort's gaze. The man they were talking +about was in sight and riding hard. Presently Brent was close enough +to nod to them. Although he had ridden far and fast, he was as casual +as sunshine. Neither in his voice nor his bearing was the least trace +of fatigue. + +"I'm goin' to need you," he told Pete. "We're short of hands right +now. If you need anything over in the line shack, go git it and come +along down after Ed and me." + +Pete took the hint and left Brevoort and Brent to ride to the house +together while he rode over to the shack and warmed up some coffee and +beans. In an hour he was at the house. A thoroughbred stood at the +hitching-rail. Pete noticed that the animal carried Brevoort's saddle. +Evidently there was to be more hard riding. As Pete entered the big +room, he also noticed that Brevoort was heavily armed, and carried an +extra belt of cartridges. Brent was examining a rifle when Pete +stepped in. "You may need this," said Brent, handing the rifle and +scabbard to Pete. "Go over to the bunk-house and get another belt and +some shells." + +When Pete returned, Blue Smoke was in the corral and his own saddle was +on a big bay that looked like a splendid running-mate for Brevoort's +mount. Pete busied himself slinging the rifle, curious as to what his +new venture would or could be, yet too proud to show that he was +interested. + +Brevoort, hitching up his belt, swung to his horse. Without hesitation +Pete followed. Well-fed, eager and spirited, the horses lunged out +into the open and settled into a long, swinging stride--a gait that was +new to Pete, accustomed as he was to the shorter, quick action of the +cow-pony. + +They rode south, across the sunlit expanse of emptiness between the +hacienda and the line. A few hundred yards beyond the fence, Brevoort +reined in. "Mexico," he said, gesturing round about. "Our job is to +ride to the Ortez rancho and get that outfit movin' up this way." + +"Goin' to turn the cattle over to 'em?" queried Pete. + +"Yes--and that quick they won't know they got 'em. It's a big deal, if +she goes through. If she don't, it's like to be the finish of the +Olla." + +"Meanin' if the T-Bar-T and the Concho gits busy, there's like to be +some smoke blowin' down this way?" + +"The same. Recollect what I was tellin' you this mornin'." + +"About Brent sendin' a man into a fight?" + +"Yes. But I wasn't figurin' on provin' it to you so quick," drawled +the Texan. "Hold your horse down to a walk. We'll save speed for a +spell. No, I wasn't figurin' on this. You see, when I hired out to +Brent, I knew what I was doin'--so I told him I'd jest earn my pay on +the white side of the border--but no Mexico for mine. That was the +understandin'. Now he goes to work and sends you and me down into this +here country on a job which is only fit for a Greaser. I'm goin' to +see it through, but I done made my last ride for the Olla." + +"Brent was sayin' he was short of hands," suggested Pete. + +"Which is correct. But there's that José who knows every foot of the +dry-spot clean to the Ortez--and he knows every hoss-thief in this +sun-blasted country. Does he send José? No. He sends two white men, +tellin' me that it is too big a deal to trust the Mexican with." + +"And a fine chance of gittin' bumped off by a lousy bunch of Cholas +callin' themselves soldiers, eh?" + +"You said it." + +"Well, we got good hosses, anyway. And I sabe the Mexican talk." + +"Guess that's why Brent sent you along. He knows I talk mighty little +Mexican." And Brevoort gazed curiously at Pete. + +"Seein' as you feel that way about it, Ed, I got somethin' I been +millin' over in my head. Now, when The Spider sent me down here he +said he had some important business he wanted me to handle. Brent was +to tell me. Now I don't see anything important about ridin' line or +chasin' into Mexico to wake up a bunch of Greasers and tell 'em to get +busy. Uncle Sammy Brent's got somethin' hid up his sleeve, Ed." + +Brevoort, riding slowly beside Pete, turned from gazing across the +desert and looked Pete over from spur to sombrero with a new interest. +He thought he knew now why The Spider had sent Pete to the ranch and +why Brent, in turn, had sent Pete on this dangerous mission. "Is The +Spider much of a friend of yours?" queried Brevoort suddenly. + +"Why, I dunno. 'Course he acted like he was--but you can't tell about +him. He--he helped me out of a hole onct." + +"Did you ever help him out?" + +"Me? No, I never had the chanct." + +"Uh-huh. Well, just you pull in your hoss and run your good eye over +this a minute." And Brevoort drew a folded slip of paper from his +shirt-pocket and handed it to Pete. It was a brief note addressed to +Brevoort and signed "J.E." It instructed Brevoort to accompany Pete +Annersley to El Paso after the sale of the cattle and to see to it that +the money which Annersley would have with him was deposited to the +credit of James Ewell in the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank. + +Pete had difficulty in reading the note and took some time to read it, +finally handing it back to Brevoort in silence. And then, "Where did +you git it? Who is 'J.E.'?" + +"From Harper. 'J.E.' is Jim Ewell--The Spider." + +"So Harper rode to Showdown and back?" + +"He took word from Brent to The Spider that the boys had started," said +Brevoort. + +"And Brent--" Pete hesitated for fear of committing himself even though +he trusted Brevoort. But Brevoort had no hesitation. He anticipated +Pete's thought and spoke frankly. + +"Brent figured it fine. I knew why he sent you and me on this +ride--but I was tryin' to find out if you was wise--or ridin' blind. +If we come back, Brent won't show his hand. If we don't come back +he'll collect the dough and vamoose. Kin you see a hole in the fence?" + +"You're whistlin', Ed! It's one crook tryin' to git the best of +another crook. But I would 'a' said Brent was straight. I say The +Spider's money goes into that there bank." + +"Same here. I ain't so dam' honest that it hurts me, but I quit when +it comes to stealin' from the man that's payin' my wages." + +"Then I reckon you and me is pardners in this deal," and Pete, boyishly +proffered his hand. + +Big Ed Brevoort grasped Pete's hand, and held it till the horses shied +apart. "To the finish," he said. + +"To the finish," echoed Pete, and with one accord they slackened rein. +The thoroughbreds reached out into that long, tireless running stride +that brought their riders nearer and nearer to the Ortez rancho and the +Mexican agent of the guerilla captain whose troops were so sadly in +need of beef. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +A GAMBLE + +On either side of a faint trail rose the dreary, angling grotesques of +the cactus, and the dried and dead stalks of the soapweed. Beyond, to +the south, lay a sea of shimmering space, clear to the light blue that +edged the sky-line. The afternoon sun showed copper-red through a +faint haze which bespoke a change of weather. The miles between the +Olla and that tiny dot on the horizon--the Ortez hacienda--seemed +endless, because of no pronounced landmarks. Pete surmised that it +would be dark long before they reached their destination. Incidentally +he was amazed by the speed of the thoroughbreds, who ran so easily, yet +with a long, reaching stride that ate into the miles. To Pete they +seemed more like excellent machines than horses--lacking the pert +individuality of the cow-pony. Stall-fed and groomed to a satin-smooth +glow, stabled and protected from the rains--pets, in Pete's +estimation--yet he knew that they would run until they dropped, holding +that long, even stride to the very end. He reached out and patted his +horse on the neck. Instantly the sensitive ears twitched and the +stride lengthened. Pete tightened rein gently. "A quirt would only +make him crazy," he thought; and he grinned as he saw that Brevoort's +horse had let out a link or two to catch up with its mate. + +The low sun, touching the rim of the desert, flung long crimson shafts +heavenward--in hues of rose and amethyst, against the deep umber and +the purple of far spaces. From monotonous and burning desolation the +desert had become a vast momentary solitude of changing beauty and +enchantment. Then all at once the colors vanished, space shrank, and +occasional stars trembled in the velvet roof of the night. And one +star, brighter than the rest, grew gradually larger, until it became a +solitary camp-fire on the level of the plain. + +"Don't like the looks of that," said Brevoort, as he pulled up his +horse. "It's out in front of the 'dobe--and it means the Ortez has got +company." + +"Soldiers?" + +"Looks like it." + +"Arguilla's men?" + +"I reckon so. And they're up pretty clost to the line--too clost to +suit me. We'll ride round and do our talkin' with Ortez." + +"Ain't they friendly?" queried Pete. + +"Friendly, hell! Any one of 'em would knife you for the hoss you're +ridin'! Hear 'em sing! Most like they're all drunk--and you know what +that means. Just follow along slow; and whatever you run into don't +get off your hoss." + +"Ain't them there coyotes friendly to Ortez?" + +"S' long as he feeds 'em. But that don't do us no good. Ought to be +some of the Ortez riders hangin' round somewhere. They don't mix much +with Arguilla's men." + +"She's a lovely lay-out," said Pete. "But I'm with you." + +Circling the ranch, Brevoort and Pete rode far out into the desert, +until the camp-fire was hidden by the ranch-buildings. Then they +angled in cautiously, edging past the 'dobe outbuildings and the +corrals toward the hacienda. "Don't see anybody around. Guess they +'re all out in front drinkin' with the bunch," whispered Brevoort. +Just as Pete was about to make a suggestion, a figure rose almost +beneath the horse's head, and a guttural Mexican voice told him to +halt. Pete complied, telling the Mexican that they were from the Olla, +that they had a message for Ortez. + +"No use arguin'," said Brevoort--and Pete caught Brevoort's meaning as +another man appeared. + +"Ask him if Arguilla is here," said Brevoort. And Pete knew that these +were Arguilla's men, for none of the Ortez vaquero's carried +bolt-action rifles. + +The sentry replied to Pete's question by poking him in the ribs with +the muzzle of his rifle, and telling his to get down muy pronto. + +"Tell him our message is for Arguilla--not Ortez," suggested Brevoort. +"There's something wrong here. No use startin' anything," he added +hastily, as he dismounted. "Ortez is agent for Arguilla's outfit. If +you get a chance, watch what they do with our horses." + +"We came to see El Comandante," said Pete as the sentries marched them +to the house. "We're his friends--and you'll be coyote-meat before +mornin' if you git too careless with that gun." + +The sentry grunted and poked Pete in the back with his rifle, informing +him in that terse universal idiom that he could "tell it to El +Comandante." + +From the outer darkness to the glare of the light in the 'dobe was a +blinding transition. Pete and Brevoort blinked at the three figures in +the main room: Arguilla, who sat at the long table, his heavy features +glistening with sweat, his broad face flushed to a dull red, had his +hand on a bottle of American whiskey, from which he had just filled his +glass. Near him sat the owner of the rancho, Ortez, a man much older, +bearded and lean, with face lined and interlined by weather and age. +At the closed door stood a sentry. From without came raucous laughter +and the singing of the soldiers. The sentry nearest Pete told Arguilla +that the Gringoes had been caught sneaking in at the back of the +hacienda. + +Pete briskly corrected this statement. "We're from the Olla--about the +cattle--for your army," added Pete, no whit abashed as he proffered +this bit of flattery. + +"Si! You would talk with the patron then?"--and Arguilla gestured +toward Ortez. + +"We got orders from Brent--he's our boss---to make our talk to you," +said Pete, glancing quickly at Brevoort. + +"How did you know that I was here with my army?" queried Arguilla. + +"Shucks! That's easy. It's in all the papers," asserted Pete, rather +proud of himself, despite the hazard of the situation. + +Arguilla's chest swelled noticeably. He rose and strutted up and down +the room, as though pondering a grave and weighty question. Presently +he turned to Ortez. "You have heard, señor?" + +Ortez nodded. And in that nod Brevoort read the whole story. Ortez +was virtually a prisoner on his own ranch. The noble captain of +Liberty had been known to use his best friends in this way. + +"When will the cattle arrive at the Olla?" asked Arguilla, seating +himself. + +"To-morrow, Señor Comandante. That is the word from Sam Brent." + +"And you have come for the money, then?" + +Pete barely hesitated. "No. Brent said there ain't no hurry about +that. He said you could figure on two hundred head"--Pete recalled +Harper's statement--"and that you would send your agent over to the +Olla with the cash." + +Arguilla glanced at Ortez. "You have heard, señor?" + +Ortez nodded dejectedly. He had heard, but he dare not speak. As the +trusted agent of the financiers backing Arguilla, he had but recently +been given the money for the purchase of these supplies, and almost on +the heels of the messenger bearing the money had come Arguilla, who at +once put Ortez under arrest, conveyed the money to his own coffers, and +told the helpless Ortez that he could settle with the Gringo Brent +according to the understanding between them. + +Brevoort, silently eying Arguilla, saw through the scheme. Arguilla +had determined to have both the money and the cattle. This explained +his unwonted presence at the Ortez hacienda. + +Arguilla took a stiff drink of whiskey, wiped his mustache and turned +to Brevoort. "You have heard?" he said. + +Brevoort knew enough Mexican to understand the question. "We'll tell +Brent that everything is all right," he said easily. "But he's a dam' +liar," he added in an undertone to Pete. Brevoort had made the mistake +of assuming that because he did not understand Mexican, Arguilla did +not understand English. Arguilla did not hear all that Brevoort said, +but he caught the one significant word. His broad face darkened. +These Gringoes knew too much! He would hold them until the cattle had +been delivered--and then they could join his army--or be shot. A mere +detail, in either event. + +"Put these men under arrest!" he commanded the sentries. "If they +escape--you are dead men." + +"What's the idee--" began Pete, but the noble captain waved his hand, +dismissing all argument, along with the sentries, who marched their +prisoners to the stable and told them plainly that they had much rather +shoot them than be bothered with watching them; a hint that Pete +translated for Brevoort's benefit. + +One of the sentries lighted a dusty lantern and, placing it on the +floor of a box stall, relieved his captives of their belts and guns. +The sentries squatted at the open end of the stall and talked together +while Brevoort and Pete sat each in a corner staring at the lantern. + +Presently Brevoort raised his head. "Find out if either of 'em sabe +American talk," he whispered. + +"You sabe my talk?" queried Pete. + +One of the sentries turned to stare at Pete. The Mexican shook his +head. + +"You're a liar by the watch--and your father was a pig and the son of a +pig, wasn't he?" asked Pete, smiling pleasantly. + +"Si!" said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendly +joke. + +"And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he's +jest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soon +knife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?" And +Pete smiled engagingly. + +"Si. It is to laugh." + +"You sabe whiskey?" + +The Mexican shook his head. + +"You sabe dam' fool?" Pete's manner was serious as though seeking +information. + +Again the Mexican shook his head. + +"He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort--"or he'd 'a' jest +nacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' fool +means, he don't know American." + +Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of +gambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster had +taken their fancy. Pete and his companion watched them for a while. + +Presently Pete attracted Brevoort's attention by moving a finger. +"Hear anything?" he whispered. + +"I hear 'em eatin'," said Brevoort. He was afraid to use the word +"horses." + +Pete nodded. "Speakin' of eatin'--you hungry, Ed?" + +"Plumb empty. But I didn't know it till you asked me." + +"Well, I been feelin' round in the hay--and right in my corner is a +nest full of eggs. There's so doggone many I figure that some of 'em +is gettin' kind of ripe. Did you ever git hit in the eye with a ripe +egg?" + +"Not that I recollect'." + +"Well, you would--if you had. Now I don't know what that swelled up +gent in there figures on doin' with us. And I don't aim to hang around +to find out. These here Cholas is gamblin' for our hosses, right now. +It kind of looks to me like if we stayed round here much longer we +ain't goin' to need any hosses or anything else. I worked for a +Mexican onct--and I sabe 'em. You got to kind of feel what they mean, +and never mind what they are sayin'. Now I got a hunch that we don't +get back to the Olla, never--'less we start right now." + +"But how in--" + +"Wait a minute. I'm goin' to dig round like I was goin' to take a +sleep--and find these here eggs. Then I'm goin' to count 'em nacheral, +and pile 'em handy to you. Then we rig up a deal like we was gamblin' +for 'em, to kind of pass the time. If that don't git them two coyotes +interested, why, nothin' will. Next to gamblin' a Chola likes to +_watch_ gamblin' better 'n 'most anything. When you git to win all my +eggs, I make a holler like I'm mad. You been cheatin'. And if them +two Cholas ain't settin' with their mouths open and lookin' at us, why, +I don't know Cholas. They're listenin' right now--but they don't sabe. +Go ahead and talk like you was askin' me somethin'." + +"What's your game after we start beefin' about the eggs?" + +"You pick up a couple--and I pick up a couple. First you want to move +round so you kin swing your arm. When I call you a doggone bald-face +short-horn, jest let your Chola have the eggs plumb in his eye. If +they bust like I figure, we got a chanct to jump 'em--but we got to +move quick. They's a old single-tree layin' right clost to your elbow, +kind of half under the hay. Mebby it'll come handy. I figure to kick +my friend in the face when I jump. Do I find them eggs?" + +"Dig for 'em," drawled the Texan. + +"If we miss the first jump, then they shoot, and that'll be our finish. +But that's a heap better 'n gittin' stood up against a 'dobe wall. I +jest found them eggs." + +And Pete uttered an exclamation as he drew his hand from the straw +behind him, and produced an egg. The Mexicans glanced up. Pete dug in +the straw and fetched up another egg--and another. Brevoort leaned +forward as though deeply interested in some sleight-of-hand trick. Egg +after egg came from the abandoned nest. The Mexicans laughed. The +supply of eggs seemed to be endless. + +Finally Pete drew out his hand, empty. "Let's count 'em," he said, and +straightway began, placing the eggs in a pile midway between himself +and his companion. "Twenty-eight. She was a enterprisin' hen." + +"I'll match for 'em," said Brevoort, hitching round and facing Pete. + +"I'll go you!" And straightway Brevoort and Pete became absorbed in +the game, seemingly oblivious to the Mexicans, who sat watching, with +open mouths, utterly absorbed in their childish interest. Two Gringoes +were gambling for bad eggs. + +Pete won for a while. Then he began to lose. "They're ripe all right. +I can tell by the color. Plumb ready to bust. The Cholas sabe that. +Watch 'em grin. They 're waitin' for one of us to bust a egg. That'll +be a big joke, and they'll 'most die a-laughin'--'cause it's a +joke--and 'cause we're Gringoes." + +"Then here's where I bust one," said Brevoort. "Get a couple in your +hand. Act like you was chokin' to death. I'll laugh. Then I'll kind +of get the smell of that lame egg and stand up quick. Ready?" + +"Shoot," said Pete. + +Brevoort tossed an egg on the pile. Several of the eggs broke with a +faint "plop." Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed such +utter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance of +the age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act his +part. He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even as +Brevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were not +altogether innocent. The two Mexicans had risen to their knees and +rocked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes. +Plop!--Plop!--Plop! and three of the four eggs targeted an accurate +twelve o'clock. Pete leaped and kicked viciously. His high heel +caught one choking Mexican in the jaw just as Brevoort jumped and swung +the single-tree. Pete grabbed up his belt and gun. + +Brevoort had no need to strike again. + +"You go see if the horses are saddled. I'll watch the door," said +Brevoort. + +Arguilla was awakened from a heavy sleep by the sound of a shot and the +shrill yelp of one of his men. A soldier entered and saluted. "The +Americans have gone," he reported. + +Arguilla's bloated face went from red to purple, and he reached for his +gun which lay on the chair near his bed. But the lieutenant who had +reported the escape faced his chief fearlessly. + +Arguilla hesitated. "Who guarded them?" he asked hoarsely. + +The lieutenant named the men. + +"Take them out and shoot them--at once." + +"But, Señor Comandante, they may not stand. The Americans have beaten +them so that they are as dead." + +"Then shoot them where they lay--which will be easier to do." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +QUERY + +Far out across the starlit gloom the two thoroughbreds raced side by +side. They seemed to know what was required of them. A mile, two +miles, three miles, and the night-fire of Arguilla's men was a +flickering dot against the black wall of the night. + +Brevoort pulled his horse to a walk. "We done left 'em looking at each +other," he drawled. + +"Two of 'em ain't," said Pete succinctly. + +Brevoort chuckled. "I was tryin' that hard not to laugh when you +smelled them aigs, that I come nigh missin' my chanct. You sure are +some play-actor." + +"Play-actor nothin'! I was doggone near sick. I kin smell 'em yet. +Say, I'd like to know what'll happen to them two Cholas." + +"Ain't you satisfied with what we done to 'em?" + +"Yep. But Arguilla won't be. I'd hate to be in their boots--" From +the south came the faint, sinister "pop! pop!" of rifle shots. Pete +turned quickly toward his companion. "Right now," he concluded, +shrugging his shoulders. + +"We got trouble of our own," said Brevoort. "Brent tried to run his +iron on us--but he got hold of the wrong iron. Now the deal will have +to go through like The Spider figured. Mebby Brent knows that +Arguilla's men are at the Ortez--and mebby he don't. But we don't say. +We ride in and repo't that Ortez says O.K.--that his vaqueros are +comin' for the cattle and that he is comin' with the cash. Brent won't +bat an eye. I know him. He'll jest tell you to take the dough and +ride to Sanborn and take the train for El Paso. Then he'll vamose." + +"How's that?" + +"'Cause he knows that this is the finish. When he was handlin' stock +from south of the line,--in small bunches, and pushin' it through +fast,--we was all right. The Mexican punchers was doin' the stealin', +sellin' the stuff to Brent. And Brent was sellin' to Arguilla's +agent--which is Ortez. All Ortez did was pay for it and turn it over +to Arguilla. Mexicans was stealin' from Mexicans and sellin' to Brent +cheap, 'cause he paid cash, and Brent was sellin' it to Mexicans. The +fellas that stole the stuff knew better 'n to try to sell to Arguilla. +All they would 'a' got would 'a' been a promise. So they sells to +Brent, who bought mighty cheap, but paid real money. That worked fine. +But when Brent starts stealin' from white men on his side of the +line--why, he knows that it is the finish--so he figures on a big +haul--or The Spider does--kind of takes them ranchers up north by +surprise and gets away with a couple of hundred head. But he knows, as +sure's he's a foot high, that they'll trail him--so he forgets that The +Spider said you was to collect from Ortez and bank the dough--and +figures on collectin' it himself." + +"Kind of a cold deal, eh, Ed?" + +"All crooked deals is cold." + +"But I wonder why Brent didn't send me down to the Ortez alone. What +did he ring you in for?" + +"Brent figured that I'd get wise to his scheme. You see, the +understandin' with The Spider is, that I'm fo'man of the Olla, case +Brent gets bumped off. Mebby The Spider thinks I'm square. Mebby he +jest plays me against Brent to keep us watchin' each other. I dunno." + +"You figure Arguilla will send old man Ortez over the line with the +cash?" + +"Yes. He will now. We done spoiled his game by gittin' loose. But I +don't say that Arguilla won't try to raid the Olla and get that money +back, after he's got the cattle movin' south. You see the +high-steppers that are backin' Arguilla ain't trustin' him with a whole +lot of cash, personal. 'Course, what he loots is his. But their money +is goin' for grub and ammunition. They figure if he gets enough cash, +he'll quit. And they don't want him to quit. He thinks he's the big +smoke--but all he is is hired man to big money." + +"He's been played, right along--same as us, eh?" + +"Same as us." + +"Well, Ed, I don't mind takin' a long chanct--but I sure don't aim to +let any man make a monkey of me." + +"Then you want to quit this game," said Brevoort. "Why don't you kind +of change hosses and take a fresh start? You ain't been in the game so +long but what you can pull out." + +"I was thinkin' of that. But what's a fella goin' to do? Here we be, +ridin' straight for the Olla. Right soon the sun'll be shinin' and the +hosses millin' round in the corral and gittin' warmed up, and Brent'll +be tellin' us he can use us helpin' push them cattle through to the +south end: and I reckon we'll change our saddles and git right to work, +thinkin' all the time of quittin', but keepin' along with the job jest +the same. A fella kind of hates to quit any job till it's done. And I +figure this here deal ain't even started to make trouble--yet. Wait +till the T-Bar-T outfit gits a-goin'; and mebby the Concho, and the +Blue Range boys." + +"Hand over your canteen a minute," said Brevoort. "I lost mine in the +get-away." + +Dawn found them inside the south line fence. In an hour they were at +the 'dobe and clamoring for breakfast. The cook told them that Brent +was at the north line camp, and had left no word for them. + +Brevoort glanced quickly at Pete. Evidently Brent had not expected +them to return so soon, if at all. + +After breakfast they sauntered to the bunk-house, and pulled off their +boots and lay down. + +It was about noon when the cook called them. "The bunch is back," he +said. "Harper just rode in. He says the old man is sore about +somethin'." + +"The Spider?" queried Brevoort. + +"Nope, Sam." + +"Goin' to ride over?" asked Pete, after the cook had left. + +"No. But I'm goin' to throw a saddle on one of the never-sweats and +I'm goin' to pick a good one." + +"I reckon Blue Smoke'll do for me. You goin' to pull your freight, Ed?" + +"We got our runnin' orders. The minute old man Ortez hands over that +cash, there'll be a hole in the scenery where we was." + +"That's my idee. But suppose we make it through to El Paso all right. +What do we do next?" + +"That's kind of like jumpin' off the aidge of the Grand Cañon and +askin' yourself what you're goin' to do while you're in the air. We +ain't lit yet." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +BRENT'S MISTAKE + +Following the trail that Brevoort and Pete had taken from the Ortez +rancho, Arguilla and his men rode north and with them rode Ortez and +several of his vaqueros. Within a few miles of the Olla the ragged +soldiery swung west to the shelter of the low hills that ran parallel +to the Olla line, while Ortez and his men rode directly to the Olla +fence and entered a coulee near the big gate, where they waited the +arrival of Brent and the herd. + +About two hours before sundown one of Arguilla's lieutenants appeared +on the edge of the coulee where he could overlook the country. At his +signal the soldiers were to join the Ortez riders, but not until Brent +and his men had the cattle delivered. + +Arguilla, who was to keep out of sight, had told Ortez to pay the +amount stipulated by Brent--and at the old established rate of twenty +dollars a head--which meant that upon receipt of the cattle Ortez would +give the foreman of the Olla four thousand dollars in gold. Ortez knew +that Arguilla contemplated killing Brent and his men and recovering the +money. Although his sympathies were with his own people, Ortez felt +that such treachery was too black, even for a leader of guerillas. + +He realized that the first word of warning to Brent would mean his own +doom and the death of his men in the battle which would follow, for he +knew the Gringo cowboys would fight to the last man. Against this he +weighed the probability of a fight if he did not speak. In either +event he would be dishonored in the eyes of the powers who had trusted +him with handling the finances of the cause. It was in this state of +mind that he waited for the arrival of the men whom he considered +doomed, never imagining for a moment that Brent himself anticipated +treachery. + +The sun had almost touched the western sky-line when a solitary rider +spurred out from the great gate of the Olla and up to Ortez, who +recognized in him one of the young vaqueros that had escaped from +Arguilla's guards the preceding night. + +"Here's our tally." Pete handed Ortez a slip of paper. "Two hundred +and three head. My patron says to call it two hundred even, and to +give you a receipt for the money when you turn it over to me." + +Arguilla's lieutenant had expected to see the herd turned over to Ortez +before the payment of any moneys. He hesitated as to whether or not he +should ride to the rim of the coulee and signal his company to +interfere with the transaction then and there in the name of his +superior officer. The lieutenant did not believe that Ortez would turn +over the money for a mere slip of paper. But Ortez, strangely enough, +seemed only too eager to close the transaction. Stepping to his horse, +he took two small canvas sacks from his saddle-pockets. Still the +lieutenant hesitated. He had had no instructions covering such a +contingency. + +"I await your receipt, señor," said Ortez as he handed the money to +Pete. + +Pete drew a folded slip of paper from his pocket and gave it quickly to +Ortez. "Brent'll push the cattle through muy pronto." And whirling +his horse round under spur, he was halfway back to the Olla gate before +the lieutenant thought of signaling to Arguilla. + +From the vantage of the higher ground the lieutenant could see that the +gate was already open--that the Gringos were slowly pushing the cattle +through, and out to the desert. He waved his serape. Almost on the +instant Arguilla's men appeared in the distance, quirting their ponies +as they raced toward the coulee. The lieutenant turned and gazed at +the herd, which, from bunching through the gateway, had spread out +fanwise. Already the Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge. +But something was happening over near the Olla gate. The American +cowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faint +flashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled. +The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stop +as he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below. Some +thirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho swept +through the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros. Arguilla +saw that his own plan had gone glimmering. Ortez had in some way +played the traitor. Moreover, they were all on American territory. +The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla saw +one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this noble +captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his +countrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south, +followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. There +had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit +his fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down +the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to +change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader's +"strategic retreat." + +Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation +of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally +wounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was passed +unnoticed by the returning Americans. + +The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Better +mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla +riders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country, +they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of +the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd. + +It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the +exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together +from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to his +companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for +him to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted a +lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to +watch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation, +had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north. +He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew also +that they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his glass on +them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the +line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the +visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then he +mounted and took his leisurely way toward space. He knew that the +Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist. + +Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading for +Sanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the running +skirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoort +would make for Sanborn--and they had The Spider's money. Brent also +knew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reach +Sanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover--and of +taking them by surprise . . . + +The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla to +within a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti had +sprung up--one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined in +a huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. The +wagon-road passed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest, +and having passed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finally +paralleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brent +had planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery, +Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of the +regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he +realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail, +which joined the main wagon-road. + +Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at +six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great +length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at +the livery stable--to be called for later. + +At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and his +men, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to considering +their own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso with +several thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla's +backers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between them +that they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete had +made up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch--and have done +with the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, as +much because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in" +with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train, +the big, easy-going Texan would have fallen in with the suggestion +quite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him, +but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him. +Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fair +weather or foul. + +Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own more +intimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were to +suggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska--and +Pete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider was +actually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even while +he had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought of +her just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking of +her--even aside from her presence in the patio--that night when the +posse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to the +Ortez rancho--and now he was thinking of her again . . . He raised his +head and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as the +very sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of the +horses, the sand-muffled sound of their feet . . . Directly ahead +loomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gestured +toward it. + +"They call it the Devil's Graveyard," said Brevoort. "A sizable bunch +of cactus alongside the road. We're closer to Sanborn than I figured." + +"Well, we can't go any slower 'less we git off and set down," Pete +remarked. "Blue Smoke here is fightin' the bit. He ain't no graveyard +hoss." + +"I notice he's been actin' nervous--and only jest recent." + +"He always runs his fool head off--if I let him," asserted Pete. And +he fell silent, thinking of Boca and the strange tricks that Fate plays +on the righteous and wicked alike. He was startled out of his reverie +by Brevoort. "Mebby I'm dreamin'," whispered the Texan, "but I'm plumb +certain I seen somethin' drift into that cactus-patch." + +"Cattle," said Pete. + +"No. No cattle in these parts." + +"Stray--mebby." + +"I dunno. Jest sit light in your saddle and watch your hoss's ears. +He'll tell you right quick if there's another hoss in there." + +Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinent +reason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti, +which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars. +Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead and +seemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when Blue +Smoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped. + +"Put 'em up--quick!" came from the shadows. + +Pete's hand dropped to his holster, but before he could jerk out his +gun, Brevoort had fired at the sound--once, twice, three times . . . +Pete heard the trampling of a frightened horse somewhere in the brush. + +"I got him," Brevoort was saying. + +Pete's face was cold with sweat. "Are you hit, Ed?" he said. + +"No, he missed me. He was right quick, but I had him lined against +that openin' there before he said a word. If he'd 'a' stood back and +kept still he could have plugged us when we rode past. He was too sure +of his game." + +"Who was it, Ed?" + +"I got one guess. We got the money. And he got what was comin' to +him." Brevoort swung down and struck a match. "I owed you that, +Brent," he said as the match flared up and went out. + +"Brent!" exclaimed Pete. + +Brevoort mounted and they rode on past the sinister place, in the chill +silence of reaction from the tense and sudden moment when death had +spoken to them from the shadows where now was silence and that +voiceless thing that had once been a man. "Got to kill to live!" Pete +shivered as they swung from the shadows and rode out across the open, +and on down the dim, meandering road that led toward the faint, +greenish light glimmering above the desert station of Sanborn. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +FUGITIVE + +Rodeo, Hachita, Monument--long hours between each town as the local did +its variable thirty-five miles an hour across the southern end of New +Mexico. It was Pete's first experience in traveling by rail, and true +to himself he made the most of it. He used his eyes, and came to the +conclusion that they were aboard a very fast train--a train that "would +sure give a thoroughbred the run of its life"--Pete's standard of speed +being altogether of the saddle--and that more people got on and off +that train than could possibly have homes in that vast and uninhabited +region. The conductor was an exceedingly popular individual. Every +one called him by his "front name," which he acknowledged pleasantly in +like manner. Pete wondered if the uniformed gentleman packed a gun; +and was somewhat disappointed when he discovered that that protuberance +beneath the conductor's brass-buttoned coat was nothing more deadly +than a leather wallet, pretty well filled with bills and loose +silver--for that isolated railroad did a good cash business and +discriminating conductors grew unobtrusively wealthy. And what was +still more strange to Pete was the fact that the conductor seemed to +know where each person was going, without having to refer to any +penciled notation or other evident data. + +The conductor was surprisingly genial, even to strangers, for, having +announced that the next station was El Paso, he took the end seat of +the combination baggage and smoking car, spread out his report sheet, +and as he sorted and arranged the canceled tickets, he chatted with +Pete and Brevoort, who sat facing him. Had they heard the news? +Brevoort shook his head. Well, there had been a big fight down along +the line, between the northern cattlemen and Arguilla's soldiers. It +was rumored that several American cowboys had been killed. He had +heard this from the agent at Hermanas, who had "listened in" on the +wire to El Paso. Perhaps they had heard about it, though, as they had +come up from that way. No? Well, the El Paso papers already had the +news, by wire. How was the cattle business going, anyway? + +Brevoort said that it was pretty fair. + +The conductor knew of a nice little hotel near the station--in fact he +stopped there himself. El Paso was the end of his run. If the boys +were going to see the town, they couldn't do better than to stop at +this hotel. Clean beds, good food, quiet, and reasonable as to rates. + +Pete was about to say something when Brevoort touched him gently with +his knee. + +"We was lookin' for a place like that," said Brevoort, suddenly +loquacious. "We sure aim to see this town. We just been paid off--we +was workin' for the Bar-Cross--and we figured on seein' a little high +life a-fore we went to punchin' again. Is that hotel you was speakin' +about open all night?" + +The conductor chuckled. "Ain't been closed a minute for six years that +I know. Mostly railroad men. And say, if you figure on being in town +more than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room by +the week." + +"Thanks," said Brevoort. "We aim to stay a week, anyhow." + +"Well, they'll use you all right," asserted the conductor. "And if +you're looking for a place to buy anything--clothes or collars or +shirts--why, right across from the hotel there's as fine a little +clothing-store as you can find in town. The man that runs is a friend +of mine, and he'll use you white. Just tell him I sent you. Stokes is +his name--Len Stokes." + +"Thanks, neighbor," said Brevoort, and Pete thought that Brevoort's +tone was the least bit sarcastic. + +"That's all right," said the genial conductor. "I always like to see +the boys have a good time." + +Pete himself was a trifle suspicious of the conductor's solicitude as +to their welfare, naturally unaware that that worthy official got a +rake-off on all customers mentioning his name at the hotel and +clothing-store. + +He gathered up his reports and tickets, snapped a rubber band round +them, and dropped them in his capacious pocket. "We're eight minutes +late," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Now what--" He rose and +made for the end door as the train slowed up and stopped at an isolated +siding. Pete glanced out and saw a little red box of a building, four +or five empty freight cars, and a curve of rail that swung off south +from the main line. No passengers got on or off the train, but Pete +noticed that the conductor was talking earnestly with a hollow-cheeked, +blue-overalled man who had just handed him a slip of paper. + +The conductor waved his arm. The train pulled out. A little later he +came and took his seat opposite Pete. Conductor Stokes seemed even +more genial than ever, elaborating on the opportunities for "a good +time" in El Paso, and reiterating the hope that they would make +themselves at home at his hotel. He joked and talked familiarly about +the more notorious sections of the town, warned them to be on the +lookout for thugs, and finally excused himself and entered the baggage +compartment. + +Pete saw Brevoort lean forward and hastily snatch up a crumpled slip of +paper which had dropped from the conductor's pocket as he got up. +Brevoort scanned the paper, crumpled it, and tossed it out in the aisle. + +"We didn't see that," he told Pete. + +"What was it?" + +"Forget it," said Brevoort, as the door opened and the conductor, +glancing about, finally saw and recovered the service wire. "Running +orders," he said, as he stuffed it in his pocket and moved on down the +aisle. Pete gazed out of the window, apparently absorbed in looking at +the desert. Brevoort rolled a cigarette, and nodded casually. + +The door in the far end of the car slammed. Brevoort turned to Pete. +"Look straight ahead and--listen. That paper you saw was a telegraph +from the agent at Sanborn sayin' a man had been found shot, and to +watch out for two cow-punchers that bought tickets for El Paso--which +is us. That's how we came to stop at the junction back there, which +ain't a regular stop. It means there'll be a marshal waitin' for us at +El Paso." + +"Then let's git off this doggone thing," suggested Pete. + +"She stops onct before we git in," said Brevoort. "It's gittin' +dark--and we got one chanct. When she slows down, we go into the +baggage-car there and tell the boss we're lookin' for our war-bag, +which we didn't have. Jest about the time she stops, we drop off. The +side door's open." + +"We'll be plumb afoot," said Pete. + +"Yes. And we'll have to hole up somewhere till we git some +store-clothes--and change our looks--and mebby our luck, which is +runnin' bad right now." + +"Do we split up when we hit town?" queried Pete. + +"We got to: and you want to git rid of that there cash just as quick as +you kin. Got any of your own money on you?" + +"Got a couple of month's pay. You got the tickets. I'll give you +that." + +"Forget it! Small change don't count right now. Awhile back I was +thinkin' of puttin' it up to you that we split the big money and take a +little pasear up to Alaska, where it ain't so warm. The Spider dassent +squeal to the law, bein' in bad hisself. We could sure make a get-away +with it. But that there telegraph done settled that deal." + +"It was settled afore that, Ed." + +"Meanin' you wouldn't split, anyhow?" + +"That's what." + +"But it's crooked money, Pete. And it ain't lucky. Supposin' we get +caught? Who gits the money? The Spider, or Arguilla's bunch, or you +or me? Not on your life! The cops get it--and keep it." + +"That's all right. But if I git through, these here pesos goes to that +bank. Anyhow, you said it ain't lucky money. So I aim to git away +from it pronto. Then I'm square with The Spider--and I quit." + +"You can't shake the game that easy, Pete. I quit when we started for +Sanborn--and what did we run into? And you bein' with me gits you in +bad, likewise." + +"If that's what's botherin' you, why, I'll take the chanct, and stick," +said Pete. + +"Nope. Right now I'm lookin' out for myself, and nobody else. If they +kin hang that last deal onto me--and you know what I mean--why, your +Uncle Ed'll sure have to take the long trail. And I aim to keep +a-ridin' in the sun for a spell yet. We're gittin' clost to town. +Mebby we can drop off easy and sift out of sight without any fuss. +Then we got a chanct to change our clothes and git rid of that dough. +They'll be lightin' the lamps right soon. Them saddle-bags buckled?" + +"They sure are." + +"All right. When you hear 'em whistle for the crossin' jest stand up +and drop 'em out of the window. Nobody kin see you from behind. Then +we mosey into the baggage-car and tell the agent in there we're lookin' +for our war-bag. Bein' express messenger, he packs a gun. You want to +step lively for that side door." + +"I git you, Ed. What's all them lights out there?" + +"That's the town. She's jest whistlin' for the crossin'. Dump your +freight--easy, like you was lookin' out at the scenery. That's her. +Now, stretch your arms and kind of look round. The conductor is out on +the back platform. Come on!" + +The express messenger was leaning from the side door in the act of +swinging a parcel to the local agent at the Grossing, when Brevoort and +Pete entered. With his back toward them and absorbed in launching the +package he did not see them as they angled quickly to the other door +and dropped off into the night. The train slowed almost to a stop, the +grinding brakes eased, and it drew away, leaving Pete and Brevoort +squatting behind a row of empty oil barrels along the track. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +EL PASO + +As the tail-lights of the train disappeared, Pete and Brevoort rose and +walked down the track several hundred yards. Pete was certain that +they had retraced too far, but Brevoort assured him that he knew about +where to look for the saddle-bags. "I noticed that we passed a pile of +new ties, jest after you dropped 'em," said the Texan. + +Pete insisted that they had come too far until they almost walked into +the ties. They searched about in the darkness, feeling along the +ground with their feet, until finally Brevoort stumbled over the +saddle-bags at the bottom of the ditch along the right-of-way. He +picked them up. Pete was still rummaging around as Brevoort +straightened. For an instant the Texan was tempted to keep up the +pretense of searching and so drift farther from Pete, until under cover +of darkness he could decamp with the money--across the border and make +a fresh start with it--as he told himself, "something to start on." + +But suddenly, and most absurdly alien to his present mood, came the +vivid recollection of Pete's face when he had smelled those +unforgettable eggs in the box-stall of the Ortez stables. Why this +should have changed Brevoort's hasty inclination is explainable, +perhaps, through that strange transition from the serious to the +humorous; that quick relief from nervous tension that allows a man to +readjust himself toward the universe. Brevoort cursed softly to +himself as he strode to Pete. "Here they are. Found them back there a +piece. Now we got to foot it acrost this end of the town and drift +wide of the white-lights. Down to the south end we kin get somethin' +to eat, and some new clothes. Them Jew stores is open late." + +Following the river road they skirted the town until opposite the +Mexican quarter, where, Brevoort explained, they would be comparatively +safe, so long as they attended to their own business. + +Pete was amazed by the lights and the clamor--a stringed orchestra +playing in this open front, and a hot-dog vender declaiming in this +open front; a moving-picture entrance brilliantly illuminated, and a +constant movement of folk up and down the streets in free-and-easy +fashion, and he almost forgot the cumulative hazards of their +companionship in experiencing his first plunge into city life. +Brevoort, who knew the town, made for a Mexican lodging-house, where +they took a room above the noisy saloon, washed, and after downing a +drink of vile whiskey, crossed the street to a dingy restaurant. Later +they purchased some inconspicuous "town-clothes" which they carried +back to their room. + +Pete was for staying right where they were until morning, but Brevoort, +naturally restless, suggested that they go to a moving-picture theater. +They changed their clothes. Pete felt decidedly uncomfortable in the +coat, and was only persuaded to wear it when Brevoort pointed out that +it was a case of either leave their guns in the room or wear something +to cover them. Then came the question of what they were to do with the +money. Pete was for taking it along with them, but Brevoort vetoed the +suggestion. "It's as safe here as in a bank," he said, and taking the +two sacks from the saddle-pockets he lowered each one gently into the +big water-pitcher. "Nothin' in there but water, which don't interest a +Chola nohow. But I'll cinch it." Which he did downstairs, as he drew +a handful of gold pieces from his pocket, counted them carefully, and +left something like fifty dollars with the proprietor, asking him to +take care of the money for them, as they did not want to get "plumb +broke" the first night in town. The Mexican grinned understandingly. +He was familiar with the ways of cowboys. Their money would be safe +with him. + +Outside Pete asked Brevoort if he had not "jest about made a present of +fifty to that Mex." + +"Not any. He figures he'll get his share of it when we git to hittin' +the high-spots--which we don't aim to hit, this journey. That Mexican +sure thinks he's got all the money we own except what's on us right +now. So he won't ever think of goin' through our stuff upstairs. That +fifty was insurance on the big money. Let's go where we kin git a real +drink--and then we'll have a look at a show." + +The "real drink" was followed by another. When Brevoort suggested a +third, Pete shook his head. "It's all right, if you want to hit it, +Ed--but it's takin' a big chanct. Somethin' might slip. 'T ain't the +drinkin'--but it's the drinkin' right now." + +"Reckon you 're right," concurred Brevoort. "But I ain't had a drink +for so long--let's go see that show." + +They crowded into a cheap and odoriferous nickel theater, and +straightway Pete forgot where he was and all about who he was in +watching the amazing offerings of the screen. The comedy feature +puzzled him. He thought that he was expected to laugh--folks all round +him were laughing--but the unreality of the performance left him +staring curiously at the final tangle of a comedy which struggled to be +funny to the bitter end. His attention was keen for the next picture, +a Western drama, entitled "The Battle of the Border," which ran swiftly +to lurid climax after climax, until even Pete's unsophisticated mind +doubted that any hero could have the astounding ability to get out of +tight places as did the cowboy hero of this picture. This sprightly +adventurer had just killed a carload of Mexicans, leaped from the roof +of an adobe to his horse, and made off into the hills--they were real +hills of the desert country, sure enough--as buoyantly as though he had +just received his pay-check and was in great haste to spend it, never +once glancing back, and putting his horse up grades at a pace that +would have made an old-timer ashamed of himself had he to ride sixty +miles to the next ranch before sundown--as the lead on the picture +stated. Still, Pete liked that picture. He knew that kind of +country--when suddenly he became aware of the tightly packed room, the +foul air laden with the fumes of humanity, stale whiskey, and tobacco, +the shuffling of feet as people rose and stumbled through the darkness +toward the street. Pete thought that was the end of the show, but as +Brevoort made no move to go, he fixed his attention on the screen +again. Immediately another scene jumped into the flickering square. +Pete stiffened. Before him spread a wide cañon. A tiny rider was +coming down the trail from the rim. At the bottom was a Mexican 'dobe, +a ramshackle stable and corral. And there hung the Olla beneath an +acacia. A saddle lay near the corral bars. Several horses moved about +lazily . . . The hero of the recent gun-fight was riding into the yard +. . . Some one was coming from the 'dobe. Pete almost gasped as a +Mexican girl, young, lithe, and smiling, stepped into the foreground +and held out her hands as the hero swung from his horse. The girl was +taller and more slender than Boca--yet in the close-up which followed, +while her lover told her of the tribulations he had recently +experienced, the girl's face was the face of Boca--the same sweetly +curved and smiling mouth, the large dark eyes, even the manner in which +her hair was arranged . . . + +Pete nudged Brevoort. "I reckon we better drift," he whispered. + +"How's that, Pete?" + +"The girl there in the picture. Mebby you think I'm loco, but there's +somethin' always happens every time I see her." + +"You got a hunch, eh?" + +"I sure got one." + +"Then we play it." And Brevoort rose. They blinked their way to the +entrance, pushed through the crowd at the doorway, and started toward +their room. "I didn't want to say anything in there," Brevoort +explained. "You can't tell who's sittin' behind you. But what was you +gettin' at, anyhow?" + +"You recollect my tellin' you about that trouble at Showdown? And the +girl was my friend? Well, I never said nothin' to you about it, but I +git to thinkin' of her and I can kind of see her face like she was +tryin' to tell me somethin', every doggone time somethin's goin' to go +wrong. First off, I said to myself I was loco and it only happened +that way. But the second time--which was when we rode to the Ortez +ranch--I seen her again. Then when we was driftin' along by that +cactus over to Sanborn I come right clost to tellin' you that I seen +her--not like I kin see you, but kind of inside--and I knowed that +somethin' was a-comin' wrong. Then, first thing I know--and I sure +wasn't thinkin' of her nohow--there is her face in that picture. I +tell you, Ed, figuring out your trail is all right, and sure wise--but +I'm gettin' so I feel like playin' a hunch every time." + +"Well, a drink will fix you up. Then we'll mosey over to the room. +Our stuff'll be there all right." + +"'T ain't the money I'm thinkin' about. It's you and me." + +"Forget it!" Brevoort slapped Pete on the shoulder. "Come on in here +and have something." + +"I'll go you one more--and then I quit," said Pete. For Pete began to +realize that Brevoort's manner was slowly changing. Outwardly he was +the same slow-speaking Texan, but his voice had taken on a curious +inflection of recklessness which Pete attributed to the few but +generous drinks of whiskey the Texan had taken. And Pete knew what +whiskey could do to a man. He had learned enough about that when with +the horse-trader. Moreover, Pete considered it a sort of weakness--to +indulge in liquor when either in danger or about to face it. He had no +moral scruples whatever. He simply viewed it from a utilitarian angle. +A man with the fine edge of his wits benumbed by whiskey was apt to +blunder. And Pete knew only to well that they would have need for all +of their wits and caution to get safely out of El Paso. And to blunder +now meant perhaps a fight with the police--for Pete knew that Brevoort +would never suffer arrest without making a fight--imprisonment, and +perhaps hanging. He knew little of Brevoort's past record, but he knew +that his own would bulk big against him. Brevoort had taken another +drink after they had tacitly agreed to quit. Brevoort was the older +man, and Pete had rather relied on his judgment. Now he felt that +Brevoort's companionship would eventually become a menace to their +safety. + +"Let's get back to the room, Ed," he suggested as they came out of the +saloon. + +"Hell, we ain't seen one end of the town yet." + +"I'm goin' back," declared Pete. + +"Got another hunch?"--and Brevoort laughed. + +"Nope. I'm jest figurin' this cold. A good gambler don't drink when +be's playin'. And we're sure gamblin'--big." + +"Reckon you're right, pardner. Well, we ain't far from our blankets. +Come on." + +The proprietor of the rooming-house was surprised to see them return so +soon and so unauspiciously. He counted out Brevoort's money and gave +it back to him. + +"Which calls for a round before we hit the hay," said Brevoort. + +The room upstairs was hot and stuffy. Brevoort raised the window, +rolled a cigarette and smoked, gazing down on the street, which had +become noisier toward midnight. Pete emptied the pitcher and stowed +the wet sacks of gold in his saddle-pockets. + +"Told you everything was all right," said Brevoort, turning to watch +Pete as he placed the saddlebags at the head of the bed. + +"All right, so far," concurred Pete. + +"Say, pardner, you losin' your nerve? You act so dam' serious. Hell, +we ain't dead yet!" + +"No, I ain't losin' my nerve. But I'm tellin' you I been plumb scared +ever since I seen that picture. I don't feel right, Ed." + +"I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning toward +the window. + +Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face was +tense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of +the window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he began +slowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing we +kin do is to get out of this town quick. We got to split--no way round +that. We're all right so far, but by to-morrow they'll be watchin' +every train and every hotel, and doggin' every stranger to see what +he's doin'. What you want to do is to take them sacks, wrap 'em up in +paper, put ole E. H. Hodges's name on it--he's president of the +Stockmen's Security Bank here, and a ole pal of The Spider's--and pack +it over to the express company and git a receipt. _They'll_ sure git +that money to the bank. And then you want to fan it. If you jest was +to walk out of town, no'th, you could catch a train for Alamogordo, +mebby, and then git a hoss and work over toward the Organ Range, which +is sure open country--and cattle. You can't go back the way we +come--and they'll be watchin' the border south." + +"Where is that express outfit, anyhow?" + +"You know that street where we seen the show? Well, if you keep right +on you'll come to the Square and the express company is right on the +corner." + +"All right, Ed. But what you goin' to do?" + +"I'm goin' to git a soogun to-morrow mornin', roll my stuff and head +for the border, afoot. I'm a ranch-hand lookin' for work. I know +where I kin get acrost the river. Then I aim to hit for the dry spot, +bush out, and cross the line where they won't be lookin' for a man +afoot, nohow." + +"Why don't you git to movin' right now?" Brevoort smiled curiously. +"They's two reasons, pardner; one is that I don't want to git stood up +by a somebody wantin' to know where I'm goin' at night with my +war-bag--and I sure aim to take my chaps and boots and spurs and stuff +along, for I'm like to need 'em. Then you ain't out of town yet." + +"Which is why you're stickin' around." + +"If we only had a couple of hosses, Pete. It's sure hell bein' afoot, +ain't it?" + +"It sure is. Say, Ed, we got to split, anyhow. Why don't you git to +goin'? It ain't like you was quittin' me cold." + +"You're a mighty white kid, Pete. And I'm goin' to tell you right now +that you got a heap more sense and nerve than me, at any turn of the +game. You been goin' round to-night on cold nerve and I been travelin' +on whiskey. And I come so clost to gittin' drunk that I ain't sure I +ain't yet. It was liquor first started me ridin' the high trail." + +Brevoort had seated himself on the bed beside Pete. As the big Texan +rolled a cigarette, Pete saw that his hands trembled. For the first +time that evening Pete noticed that his companion was under a high +tension. He could hardly believe that Brevoort's nerve was really +shaken. + +The street below had grown quieter. From below came the sound of a +door being closed. Brevoort started, cursed, and glanced at Pete. +"Closin' up for the night," he said. Pete quickly shifted his gaze to +the open window. He did not want Brevoort to know that he had noticed +the start, or those hands that trembled. + +They rose early, had breakfast at the restaurant across the street, and +returned to the room, Brevoort with a sogun in which he rolled and +corded his effects and Pete with some brown paper in which he wrapped +the sacks of gold. Brevoort borrowed a pencil from the proprietor and +addressed the package. + +"But how's the bank goin' to know who it's from?" queried Pete, + +"That's right. I'll put The Spider's name here in the corner. Say, do +you know we're takin' a whole lot of trouble for a man that wouldn't +lift a hand to keep us from bein' sent up?" And Brevoort weighed the +package thoughtfully. "By rights we ought to hang onto this dough. We +earned it." + +"I sure don't want any of it, Ed. I'm through with this game." + +"I reckon you're right. Well, next off, you git it to that express +office. I'll wait till you git back." + +"What's the use of my comin' back, anyhow?" queried Pete. "We paid for +our room last night." + +"Ain't you goin' to take your stuff along? You can pack it same as +mine. Then when you git to a ranch you are hooked up to ride." + +"Guess you're right, Ed. Well, so-long." + +"See you later." + +Brevoort, who seemed to have recovered his nerve, added, "I aim to +light out jest as quick as you git back." + +Pete was so intent on his errand that he did not see Conductor Stokes, +who stood in the doorway of the El Paso House, talking to a man who had +a rowdy rolled under his arm, wore overalls, and carried a dinner-pail. +The conductor glanced sharply at Pete as he passed, then turned +abruptly, and stepped to a man who stood talking to the clerk at the +desk. + +"I jest saw one of 'em," said the conductor. "I never forget a face. +He was rigged out in town-clothes--but it was him--all right." + +"You sure, Len?" + +"Pretty darned sure." + +"Well, we can find out. You set down over there in the window and be +reading a paper. I'll go out and follow him. If he comes back this +way, you take a good look at him and give me the high sign if it's one +of 'em. And if it is, he'll be connectin' up with the other one, +sooner or later. I'll jest keep my eye on him, anyway. You say he had +on a dark suit and is dark-complexioned and young?" + +"Yes--that one. The other was bigger and taller and had light hair and +gray eyes. Both of 'em were in their range clothes on number three." + +"All right." And the plain-clothes man hastened out and up the street +until he had "spotted" Pete, just entering the doorway of the express +office. + +Pete came out presently, glanced about casually, and started back for +the room. Half a block behind him followed the plain-clothes man, who +glanced in as he passed the hotel. The conductor nodded. The +plain-clothes man hastened on down the street. He saw Pete turn a +corner several blocks south. When the detective arrived at the corner +Pete was just entering the door of the little clothing-store next to +the restaurant. Presently Pete came out and crossed to the saloon. +The detective sauntered down the opposite walk and entering the +restaurant telephoned to headquarters. Then he called for coffee and +sat watching the saloon across the way. + +Brevoort, who had been sitting on the bed gazing down at the street, +saw Pete turn the corner and enter the store. He also saw the +plain-clothes man enter the restaurant and thought nothing of it until +presently he saw another man enter the place. These two were talking +together at the table near the front window. Brevoort grew suspicious. +The latest arrival had not ordered anything to eat, nor had he greeted +the other as men do when they meet. And they did not seem quite the +type of men to dine in such a place. Pete, cording his belongings in +the new sogun, heard Brevoort muttering something, and turned his head. + +"I'm watchin' a couple of fellas acrost the street," explained +Brevoort. "Keep back out of sight a minute." + +Pete, on his knees, watched Brevoort's face. "Anything wrong, Ed?" he +queried presently. + +"I dunno. Jest step round behind me. Kin you see that eatin'-place?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you see either of them guys when you was out on the street?" + +"Why, no. Hold on a minute! That one with the gray clothes was +standin' on the corner by the express office when I come out. I +recollec' now. He was smokin' a cigar." + +"Yes. And he thrun it away when he went in there. I seen him at the +telephone there on the desk--and pretty soon along comes his friend. +Looks kind of queer that he was up at the Square when you was, and then +trails down here where we be." + +"You think mebby--" + +"I dunno. If it is we better drift out at the back afore any of 'em +gits round there." + +"And leave our stuff, eh?" + +"Yes. We got to move quick. They 're sizin' up this buildin' right +now. Don't show yourself. Wait! One of 'em is comin' out and he's +headed over here." + +Brevoort drew back, and stepping to the door opened it and strode +swiftly down the dim hall to a window at its farther end. Below the +window was a shed, and beyond the farther edge of the shed-roof was an +alley. He hastened back to the room and closed and locked the door. +"You loco?" he growled. Pete had drawn a chair to the window and was +sitting there, looking out as casually as though there was no danger +whatever. + +"I thought you made your get-away," said Pete, turning. "I was jest +keepin' that hombre interested in watchin' me. Thought if he seen +somebody here he wouldn't make no quick move to follow you." + +"So you figured I quit you, eh? And you go and set in that winda so +they'd think we was in the room here? And you done it to give me a +chanct? Well, you got me wrong. I stick." + +"Then I reckon somebody's goin' to git hurt," said Pete, "for I'm goin' +to stick too." + +Brevoort shook his head. "The first guy most like come over to ask the +boss who's up here in this room. The boss tells him about us. Now, +them coyotes sure would like it a heap better to git us out on the +street--from behind--than to run up against us holed up here, for they +figure somebody'll git hurt. Now you slip down that hall, easy, and +drop onto the shed under the winda and fan it down the alley back +there. You got a chanct. I sized up the layout." + +"Nothin' doin'. Why don't you try it yourself?" + +"'Cause they'll git one of us, anyhow, and it'll be the fella that +stays." + +"Then I'll flip a dollar to see which stays," said Pete. + +Before Brevoort could speak, Pete drew a dollar from his pocket and +flipped it toward his companion. It fell between them. "I say heads," +said Pete. And he glanced at the coin, which showed tails. "The +dollar says you go, Ed. You want to git a-movin'!" + +Brevoort hesitated; Pete rose and urged him toward the door. "So-long, +Ed. If you'd 'a' stayed we'd both got shot up. I'll set in the winda +so they'll think we 're both here." + +"I'll try her," said Brevoort. "But I'd 'a' stayed--only I knowed you +wouldn't go. So-long, pardner." He pulled his gun and softly unlocked +the door. There was no one in the hall--and no one on the narrow +stairway to the right. He tiptoed to the window, climbed out, and let +himself down to the shed-roof. From the roof he dropped to the alley, +glanced round, and then ran. + +Pete locked the door and went back to his chair in front of the window. +He watched the man in the restaurant, who had risen and waved his hand, +evidently acknowledging a signal from some one. It was the man Pete +had seen near the express office--there was no doubt about that. Pete +noticed that he was broad of shoulder, stocky, and wore a heavy gold +watch-chain. He disappeared within the doorway below. Presently Pete +heard some one coming up the uncarpeted stairway--some one who walked +with the tread of a heavy person endeavoring to go silently. A brief +interval in which Pete could hear his own heart thumping, and some one +else ascended the stairway. The boards in the hallway creaked. Some +one rapped on the door. + +"I guess this is the finish," said Pete to himself. Had he been +apprehended in the open, in a crowd on the street, he would not have +made a fight. He had told himself that. But to be run to earth this +way--trapped in a mean and squalid room, away from the sunlight and no +slightest chance to get away . . . He surmised that these men knew +that the men that they hunted would not hesitate to kill. Evidently +they did not know that Brevoort was gone. How could he hold them that +Brevoort might have more time? He hesitated. Should he speak, or keep +silent? + +He thought it better to answer the summons. "What do you want?" he +called. + +"We want to talk to your partner," said a voice. + +"He's sleepin'," called Pete. "He was out 'most all night." + +"Well, we'll talk with you then." + +"Go ahead. I'm listenin'." + +"Suppose you open the door." + +"And jest suppose I don't? My pardner ain't like to be friendly if +he's woke up sudden." + +Pete could hear the murmuring of voices as if in consultation. Then, +"All right. We'll come back later." + +"Who'll I say wants to see him?" asked Pete. + +"He'll know when he sees us. Old friends of his." + +Meanwhile Pete had risen and moved softly toward the door. Standing to +one side he listened. He heard footsteps along the hall--and the sound +of some one descending the stairs. "One of 'em has gone down. The +other is in the hall waitin'," he thought. "And both of 'em scared to +bust in that door." + +He tiptoed back to the window and glanced down. The heavy-shouldered +man had crossed the street and was again in the restaurant. Pete saw +him step to the telephone. Surmising that the other was telephoning +for reinforcements, Pete knew that he would have to act quickly, or +surrender. He was not afraid to risk being killed in a running fight. +He was willing to take that chance. But the thought of imprisonment +appalled him. To be shut from the sun and the space of the +range--perhaps for life--or to be sentenced to be hanged, powerless to +make any kind of a fight, without friends or money . . . He thought of +The Spider, of Boca, of Montoya, and of Pop Annersley; of Andy White +and Bailey. He wondered if Ed Brevoort had got clear of El Paso. He +knew that there was some one in the hall, waiting. To make a break for +liberty in that direction meant a killing, especially as Brevoort was +supposed to be in the room. "I'll keep 'em guessin'," he told himself, +and went back to his chair by the window. And if there was supposed to +be another man in the room, why not carry on the play--for the benefit +of the watcher across the street? Every minute would count for or +against Brevoort's escape. + +Thrusting aside all thought of his own precarious situation, Pete began +a brisk conversation with his supposed companion. "How does your head +feel?" he queried, leaning forward and addressing the empty bed. He +nodded as if concurring in the answer. + +Then, "Uh-huh! Well, you look it, all right!" + +"You don't want no breakfast? Well, I done had mine." + + .................... + +"What's the time? 'Bout ten. Goin' to git up?" + + .................... + +Pete gestured as he described an imaginative incident relative to his +supposed companion's behavior the preceding night. "Some folks been +here askin' for you." Pete shook his head as though he had been asked +who the callers were. He had turned sideways to the open window to +carry on this pantomimic dialogue. He glanced at the restaurant across +the street. The heavy-shouldered man had disappeared. Pete heard a +faint shuffling sound in the hall outside. Before he could turn the +door crashed inward. He leapt to his feet. With the leap his hand +flashed to his side. Unaccustomed to a coat, his thumb caught in the +pocket just as the man who had shouldered the flimsy door down, reeled +and sprawled on the floor. Pete jerked his hand free, but in that lost +instant a gun roared in the doorway. He crumpled to the floor. The +heavy-shouldered man, followed by two officers, stepped into the room +and glanced about. + +"Thought there was two? Where's the other guy?" queried the policeman. + +The man on the floor rose and picked up his gun. + +"Well, we got one, anyhow. Bill, 'phone the chief that one of 'em got +away. Have 'em send the wagon. This kid here is done for, I guess." + +"He went for his gun," said the heavy-shouldered man. "It's a dam' +good thing you went down with that door. Gave me a chance to get him." + +"Here's their stuff," said an officer, kicking Pete's pack that lay +corded on the floor. + +"Well, Tim," said the man who had shouldered the door down, "you stay +here till the wagon comes. Bill and I will look around when he gets +back. Guess the other one made for the line. Don't know how he worked +it. Keep the crowd out." + +"Is he all in?" queried the officer. + +"No; he's breathin' yet. But he ain't got long. He's a young bird to +be a killer." + + +Late that afternoon Pete was taken from the Emergency to the General +Hospital. Lights were just being turned on in the surgical ward and +the newsboys were shouting an extra, headlining a border raid by the +Mexicans and the shooting of a notorious bandit in El Paso. + +The president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank bought a +paper as he stepped into his car that evening and was driven toward +home. He read the account of the police raid, of the escape of one of +the so-called outlaws, the finding of the murdered man near Sanborn, +and a highly colored account of what was designated as the invasion of +the United States territory by armed troops of Mexico. + +Four thousand dollars in gold had been delivered to him personally that +day by the express company--a local delivery from a local source. +"Jim's man," he said to himself as the car passed through the Plaza and +turned toward the eastern side of the town. Upon reaching home the +president told his chauffeur to wait. Slitting an envelope he wrapped +the paper and addressed it to James Ewell, Showdown, Arizona. + +"Mail it at the first box," he said. "Then you can put the car up. I +won't need it to-night." + + +The surgeon at the General Hospital was bending over Pete. The surgeon +shook his head, then turning he gave the attendant nurse a few brief +directions, and passed on to another cot. As the nurse sponged Pete's +arm, an interne poised a little glittering needle. "There's just a +chance," the surgeon had said. + +At the quick stab of the needle, Pete's heavy eyes opened. The little +gray-eyed nurse smiled. The interne rubbed Pete's arm and stepped +back. Pete's lips moved. The nurse bent her head. "Did--Ed"--Pete's +face twitched--"make it?" + +"You mustn't talk," said the nurse gently. And wishing with all her +heart to still the question that struggled in those dark, anxious eyes, +she smiled again. "Yes, he made it," she said, wondering if Ed were +the other outlaw that the papers had said had escaped. She walked +briskly to the end of the room and returned with a dampened towel and +wiped the dank sweat from Pete's forehead. He stared up at her, his +face white and expressionless. "It was the coat--my hand caught," he +murmured. + +She nodded brightly, as though she understood. She did not know what +his name was. There had been nothing by which to identify him. And +she could hardly believe that this youth, lying there under that black +shadow that she thought never would lift again, could be the desperate +character the interne made him out to be, retailing the newspaper +account of his capture to her. + +It was understood, even before the doctor had examined Pete, that he +could not live long. The police surgeon had done what he could. Pete +had been removed to the General Hospital, as the Emergency was crowded. + +The little nurse was wondering if he had any relatives, any one for +whom he wished to send. Surely he must realize that he was dying! She +was gazing at Pete when his eyes slowly opened and the faintest trace +of a smile touched his lips. His eyes begged so piteously that she +stepped close to the cot and stooped. She saw that he wanted to ask +her something, or tell her something that was worrying him. "What did +it matter?" she thought. At any moment he might drift into +unconsciousness . . . + +"Would you--write--to The Spider--and say I delivered the--goods?" + +"But who is he--where--" + +"Jim Ewell, Showdown--over in--Arizona." + +"Jim Ewell, Showdown, Arizona." she repeated. "And what name shall I +sign?" + +"Jest Pete," he whispered, and his eyes closed. + + +Pete's case puzzled Andover, the head-surgeon at, the General. It was +the third day since Pete's arrival and he was alive--but just alive and +that was all. One peculiar feature of the case was the fact that the +bullet--a thirty-eight--which had pierced the right lung, had not gone +entirely through the body. Andover, experienced in gun-shot wounds, +knew that bullets fired at close range often did freakish things. +There had been a man recently discharged from the General as +convalescent, who had been shot in the shoulder, and the bullet, +striking the collar-bone, had taken a curious tangent, following up the +muscle of the neck and lodging just beneath the ear. In that case +there had been the external evidence of the bullet's location. In this +case there was no such evidence to go by. + +The afternoon of the third day, Pete was taken to the operating room +and another examination made. The X-ray showed a curious blur near the +right side of the spine. To extract the bullet would be a difficult +and savage operation, an operation which the surgeon thought his +patient in his present weakened condition could not stand. Pete lay in +a heavy stupor, his left arm and the left side of his face partially +paralyzed. + +The day after his arrival at the General two plain-clothes men came to +question him. He was conscious and could talk a little. But they had +learned nothing of his companion, the killing of Brent, nor how +Brevoort managed to evade them. They gathered little of Pete's history +save that he told them his name, his age, and that he had no relatives +nor friends. On all other subjects he was silent. Incidentally the +officials gave his name to the papers, and the papers dug into their +back files for reference to an article they had clipped from the +"Arizona Sentinel," which gave them a brief account of the Annersley +raid and the shooting of Gary. They made the most of all this, writing +a considerable "story," which the president of the Stockmen's Security +read and straightway mailed to his old acquaintance, The Spider. + +The officers from the police station had told Pete bluntly that he +could not live, hoping to get him to confess to or give evidence as to +the killing of Brent. Pete at once knew the heavy-shouldered man--the +man who had shot him down and who was now keen on getting evidence in +the case. + +"So I'm goin' to cross over?" Pete had said, eying the other curiously. +"Well, all I wish is that I could git on my feet long enough--to--get a +crack at you--on an even break. I wouldn't wear no coat, neither." + +The fact that Pete had bungled seemed to worry him much more than his +condition. He felt that it was a reflection on his craftmanship. The +plain-clothes man naturally thought that Pete was incorrigible, failing +to appreciate that it was the pride of youth that spoke rather than the +personal hatred of an enemy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT + +That the news of Pete's serious condition should hit The Spider as hard +as it did was as big a surprise to The Spider himself as it could ever +have been to his closest acquaintance. Yet it was a fact--and The +Spider never quarreled with facts. + +The spider of the web-weaving species who leaves his web, invites +disaster unless he immediately weaves another, and The Spider of +Showdown was only too well aware of this. Always a fatalist, he took +things as they came, but had never yet gone out of his way to tempt the +possibilities. + +Shriveled and aged beyond his natural years, with scarcely a true +friend among his acquaintances, weary of the monotony of life--not in +incident but in prospect--too shrewd to drug himself with drink, and +realizing that the money he had got together both by hook and by crook +and banked in El Paso could never make him other than he was, he faced +the alternative of binding himself to Pete's dire need and desperate +condition, or riding to Baxter and taking the train from thence to El +Paso--his eyes open to what he was doing, both as a self-appointed +Samaritan and as a much-wanted individual in the town where Pete lay +unconscious, on the very last thin edge of Nothingness. + +The Spider's preparations for leaving Showdown were simple enough. He +had his Mexican bale and cord the choicest of the rugs and blankets, +the silver-studded saddle and bridle, the Bayeta cloth--rare and +priceless--and the finest of his Indian beadwork. Each bale was +tagged, and on each tag was written the name of Boca's mother. All +these things were left in his private room, which he locked. Whether +or not he surmised what was going to happen is a question--but he did +not disregard possibilities. + +His Mexican was left in charge of the saloon with instructions to keep +it open as usual, tell no one where his master had gone, and wait for +further instructions. + +The Spider chose a most ordinary horse from his string and wore a most +ordinary suit of clothes. The only things in keeping with his lined +and weathered face were his black Stetson and his high-heeled boots. +He knew that it would be impossible to disguise himself. He would be +foolish to make the attempt. His bowed legs, the scar running from +chin to temple, his very gait made disguise impossible. To those who +did not know him he would be an "old-timer" in from the desert. To +those who did know him . . . Well, they were not many nor over-anxious +to advertise the fact. + +He left at night, alone, and struck south across the desert, riding +easily--a shrunken and odd figure, but every inch a horseman. Just +beneath his unbuttoned vest, under his left arm, hung the +service-polished holster of his earlier days. He had more than enough +money to last him until he reached El Paso, and a plentiful stock of +cigars. It was about nine o'clock next morning when he pulled up at +Flores's 'dobe and dismounted stiffly. Flores was visibly surprised +and fawningly obsequious. His chief was dressed for a long journey. +It had been many years since The Spider had ridden so far from +Showdown. Something portentous was about to happen, or had happened. + +Flores's wife, however, showed no surprise, but accepted The Spider's +presence in her usual listless manner. To her he addressed himself as +she made coffee and placed a chair for him. They talked of Boca---and +once The Spider spoke of Boca's mother, whom the Señora Flores had +known in Mexico. + +Old Flores fed The Spider's horse, meanwhile wondering what had drawn +the chief from the security of his web. He concluded that The Spider +was fleeing from some danger---the law, perhaps, or from some ancient +grudge that had at last found him out to harry him into the desert, a +hunted man and desperate. The Mexican surmised that The Spider had +money with him, perhaps all his money--for local rumor had it that The +Spider possessed great wealth. And of course he would sleep there that +night . . . + +Upon returning to the 'dobe Flores was told by The Spider to say +nothing of having seen him. This confirmed the old Mexican's suspicion +that The Spider had fled from danger. And Flores swore by the saints +that none should know, while The Spider listened and his thin lips +twitched. + +"You'd knife me in my bed for less than half the money on me," he told +Flores. + +The Mexican started back, as though caught in the very act, and whined +his allegiance to The Spider. Had he not always been faithful? + +"No," said The Spider, "but the señora has." + +Flores turned and shuffled toward the corral. The Spider, standing in +the doorway of the 'dobe, spoke to Flores's wife over his shoulder: "If +I don't show up before next Sunday, señora, get your man to take you to +Showdown. Juan will give you the money, and the things I left up +there." + +"You will not come back," said the Mexican woman. + +"Don't know but that you are right--but you needn't tell Flores that." + +An hour later The Spider had Flores bring up his horse. He mounted and +turned to glance round the place. He shrugged his shoulders. In a few +minutes he was lost to sight on the trail south which ran along the +cañon-bed. + +That night he arrived at Baxter, weary and stiff from his long ride. +He put his horse in the livery-stable and paid for its keep in +advance--"a week," he said, and "I'll be back." + +Next morning he boarded the local for El Paso. He sat in the +smoking-compartment, gazing out on the hurrying landscape. At noon he +got off the train and entered an eating-house across from the station. +When he again took his seat in the smoker he happened to glance out. +On the platform was a square-built, sombrero'd gentleman, his back to +the coach and talking to an acquaintance. There was something familiar +in the set of those shoulders. The Spider leaned forward that he might +catch a glimpse of the man's face. Satisfied as to the other's +identity, he leaned back in his seat and puffed his cigar. The Spider +made no attempt to keep from sight. The square-shouldered man was the +town marshal of Hermanas. As the train pulled out, the marshal turned +and all but glanced up when the brakeman, swinging to the steps of the +smoker, reached out and playfully slapped him on the shoulder. The car +slid past. The Spider settled himself in his seat. + +With the superstition of the gambler he believed that he would find an +enemy in the third person to recognize him, and with a gambler's stolid +acceptance of the inevitable he relaxed and allowed himself to plan for +the immediate future. On Pete's actual condition would depend what +should be done. The Spider drew a newspaper clipping from his pocket. +The El Paso paper stated that there was one chance in a thousand of +Pete recovering. The paper also stated that there had been money +involved--a considerable sum in gold--which had not been found. The +entire affair was more or less of a mystery. It was hinted that the +money might not have been honestly come by in the first place, +and--sententiously--that crime breeds crime, in proof of which, the +article went on to say; "the man who had been shot by the police was +none other than Pete Annersley, notorious as a gunman in the service of +the even more notorious Jim Ewell, of Showdown, or 'The Spider,' as he +was known to his associates." Followed a garbled account of the raid +on the Annersley homestead and the later circumstance of the shooting +of Gary, all of which, concluded the item, spoke for itself. + +"More than Pete had a chance to do," soliloquized The Spider. "They +got the kid chalked up as a crook--and he's as straight as a die." And +strangely enough this thought seemed to please The Spider. + +Shouldering through the crowd at the El Paso station, The Spider rubbed +against a well-dressed, portly Mexican who half-turned, showed surprise +as he saw the back of a figure which seemed familiar--the bowed legs +and peculiar walk--and the portly Mexican, up from the south because +certain financial interests had backed him politically were becoming +decidedly uncertain, named a name, not loudly, but distinctly and with +peculiar emphasis. The Spider heard, but did not heed nor hurry. A +black-shawled Mexican woman carrying a baby blundered into the portly +Mexican. He shoved her roughly aside. She cursed him for a pig who +robbed the poor--for he was known to most Mexicans--and he so far +forgot his dignity and station as to curse her heartily in return. The +Spider meanwhile was lost in the crowd that banked the station platform. + +El Paso had grown--was not the El Paso of The Spider's earlier days, +and for a brief while he forgot his mission in endeavoring mentally to +reconstruct the old town as he had known it. Arrived at the Plaza he +turned and gazed about. "Number two," he said to himself, recalling +the portly Mexican--and the voice. He shrugged his shoulders. + +His request to see the president of the Stockmen's Bank was borne +hesitatingly to that individual's private office, the messenger +returning promptly with instructions to "show the gentleman in." + +Contrary to all precedent the president, Hodges, was not portly, but a +man almost as lean as The Spider himself; a quick, nervous man, +forceful and quite evidently "self-made." + +"Sit down, Jim." + +The Spider pulled up a chair. "About that last deposit--" + +The president thrust his hand into a pigeon-hole and handed The Spider +a slip of paper. + +"So he got here with the cash before they nailed him?" And The Spidery +face expressed surprise. + +"The money came by express--local shipment. I tried to keep it out of +the papers. None of their dam' business." + +"I'm going to close my account," stated The Spider. + +"Going south?" + +"No. I got some business in town. After that--" + +"You mean you've got _no_ business in town. Why didn't you write?" + +"You couldn't handle it. Figure up my credit--and give me a draft for +it, I'll give you my check. Make it out to Peter Annersley," said The +Spider. + +"One of your gunmen, eh? I see by the papers he's got a poor chance of +using this." + +"So have I," and The Spider almost smiled. + +Hodges pushed back his chair. "See here, Jim. You've got no business +in this town and you know it! And you've got enough money to keep you +comfortable anywhere--South America, for instance. Somebody'll spot +you before you've been here twenty-four hours. Why don't you let me +call a taxi--there's a train south at eleven-thirty." + +"Thanks, E.H.--but I'm only going over to the hospital." + +"You sure will, if you stick around this town long." + +"I'm going to see that boy through," said The Spider. + +"Then you're not after any one?" + +"No, not that way." + +"Well, you got me guessing. I thought I knew you." + +"Mebby, Ed. Now, if the boy comes through all right, and I don't, I +want you to see that he gets this money. There's nobody in town can +identify him but me--and mebby I won't be around here to do it. If he +comes here and tells you he's Pete Annersley and that The Spider told +him to come, hand him the draft. 'Course, if things go smooth, I'll +take care of that draft myself." + +"Making your will, Jim?" + +"Something like that." + +"All right. I might as well talk to the moon. I used to think that +you were a wise one--" + +"Just plain dam' fool, same as you, E.H. The only difference is that +you're tryin' to help _me_ out--and I aim to help out a kid that is +plumb straight." + +"But I have some excuse. If it hadn't been for you when I was down +south on that Union Oil deal--" + +"Ed, we're both as crooked as they make 'em, only you play your game +with stocks and cash, inside--and I play mine outside, and she's a lone +hand. This kid, Pete, is sure a bad hombre to stack up against--but +he's plumb straight." + +"You seem to think a whole lot of him." + +"I do," said The Spider simply. + +The president shook his head. The Spider rose and stuck out his hand. +"So-long, Ed." + +"So-long, Jim. I'll handle this for you. But I hate like hell to +think it's the last time I _can_ handle a deal for you." + +"You can't tell," said The Spider. + +The president of the Stockmen's Security sat turning over the papers on +his desk. It had been a long while since he had been in the +saddle--some eighteen or twenty years. As a young man he had been sent +into Mexico to prospect for oil. There were few white men in Mexico +then. But despite their vicarious callings they usually stood by each +other. The Spider, happening along during a quarrel among the natives +and the oil-men, took a hand in the matter, which was merely incidental +to his profession. The oil-men had managed to get out of that part of +the country with the loss of but two men--a pretty fair average, as +things went those days. Years afterwards the president of the +Stockmen's Security happened to meet The Spider in El Paso--and he did +not forget what he owed him. The Spider at that time had considerable +gold which he finally banked with the Stockmen's Security at the +other's suggestion. The arrangement was mutually agreeable. The +Spider knew that the president of the Stockmen's Security would never +disclose his identity to the authorities--and Hodges felt that as a +sort of unofficial trustee he was able to repay The Spider for his +considerable assistance down in Mexico. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +DORIS + +Contrast to the rules of the hospital, the head-surgeon was chatting +rather intimately with Pete's nurse. They were in the anteroom of the +surgical ward. She was getting ready to go on duty. + +"No, Miss Gray," said the surgeon positively, "he can't hold out much +longer unless we operate. And I don't think he could stand an +operation. He has amazing vitality, he's young, and in wonderful +condition--outdoor life and pretty clean living. But he don't seem to +care whether he lives or not. Has he said anything to you about--" +The surgeon paused and cleared his throat. + +"No. He just stares at me. Sometimes he smiles--and, Dr. Andover, +I've been here two years--and I'm used to it, but I simply can't help +feeling--that he ought to have a chance." + +The surgeon studied her wistful face and for a moment forgot that he +was the head-surgeon of the General, and that she was a nurse. He +liked Doris Gray because of her personality and ability. Two years of +hard work at the General had not affected her quietly cheerful manner. + +"You're wearing yourself out worrying about this case," said the +surgeon presently. "And that won't do at all." + +She flushed and her seriousness vanished. "I'm willing to," she said +simply. + +The doctor smiled and shook his finger at her. "Miss Gray, you know a +good nurse--" + +"I know, Dr. Andover, but he hasn't a friend in the world. I asked him +yesterday if I should write to any one, or do anything for him. He +just smiled and shook his head. He doesn't seem to be afraid of +anything--nor interested in anything. He--oh, his eyes are just like +the eyes of a dog that is hurt and wants so much to tell you something, +and can't. I don't care what the newspapers say--and those men from +the police station! I don't believe he is really bad. Now please +don't smile and tell me I'm silly." + +"I thought you just said he didn't have a friend in the world." + +"Oh, I don't count--that way." Then hurriedly: "I forgot--he did ask +me to write to some one--the first day--a Jim Ewell, in Arizona. He +asked me to say he had 'delivered the goods.' I don't know that I +should have done it without reporting it, but--well, you said he +couldn't live--" + +"Some outlaw pal of his, probably," said Andover, frowning. "But that +has nothing to do with his--er--condition right now." + +"And sometimes he talks when he is half-conscious, and he often speaks +to some one he calls 'The Spider,'" asserted Doris. + +"Queer affair. Well, I'll think about it. If we do operate, I'll want +you--" + +The surgeon was interrupted by a nurse who told him there was a man who +wanted to see Peter Annersley: that the man was insistent. The +head-nurse was having supper, and should the caller be allowed in after +visiting hours? + +"Send him in," said the surgeon, and he stepped into the +superintendent's office. Almost immediately The Spider sidled across +the hallway and entered the room. The surgeon saw a short, shriveled, +bow-legged man, inconspicuously dressed save for his black Stetson and +the riding-boots which showed below the bottom of his trousers. The +Spider's black beady eyes burned in his weather-beaten and scarred +face--"the eyes of a hunted man"--thought the surgeon. In a peculiar, +high-pitched voice, he asked Andover if he were the doctor in charge. + +"I'm Andover, head-surgeon," said the other. "Won't you sit down?" + +The other glanced round. Andover got up and closed the door. "You +wish to see young Annersley, I understand." + +"You looking after him?" + +Andover nodded. + +"Is he hurt pretty bad?" + +"Yes. I doubt if he will recover." + +"Can I see him?" + +"Well,"--and the surgeon hesitated,--"it's after hours. But I don't +suppose it will do any harm. You are a friend of his?" + +"About the only one, I reckon." + +"Well--I'll step in with you. He may be asleep. If he is--" + +"I won't bother him." + +The nurse met them, and put her finger to her lips. Andover nodded and +stepped aside as The Spider hobbled to the cot and gazed silently at +Pete's white face. Then The Spider turned abruptly and hobbled down +the aisle, followed by Andover. "Come in here," said the surgeon as +The Spider hesitated. + +Andover told him briefly that there was one chance in a thousand of +Pete's recovery; that the shock had been terrific, describing just +where the bullet was lodged and its effect upon the sensory nerves. +Andover was somewhat surprised to find that this queer person knew +considerable about gun-shot wounds and was even more surprised when The +Spider drew a flat sheaf of bills from his pocket and asked what an +operation would cost. Andover told him. + +The Spider immediately counted out the money and handed it to Andover. +"And get him in a room where he can be by himself. I'll pay for it." + +"That's all right, but if he should not recover from the operation--" + +"I'm gambling that he'll pull through," said The Spider. "And there's +my ante. It's up to you." + +"I'll have a receipt made out--" + +The Spider shook his bead. "His life'll be my receipt. And you're +writing it--don't make no mistake." + +Andover's pale face flushed. "I'm not accustomed to having my +reputation as a surgeon questioned." + +"See here," said The Spider, laying another packet of bills on the +surgeon's desk. "Where I come from money talks. And I reckon it ain't +got tongue-tied since I was in El Paso last. Here's a thousand. Pull +that boy through and forget where you got the money." + +"I couldn't do more if you said ten thousand," asserted Andover. + +"Gambling is my business," said The Spider. "I raise the ante. Do you +come in?" + +"This is not a sporting proposition,"--Andover hesitated,--"but I'll +come in," he added slowly. + +"You're wrong," said The Spider; "everything is a sporting proposition +from the day a man is born till he cashes in, and mebby after. I don't +know about that, and I didn't come here to talk. My money 'll talk for +me." + +Andover, quite humanly, was thinking that a thousand dollars would help +considerably toward paying for the new car that he had had in mind for +some time. He used a car in his work and he worked for the General +Hospital. His desire to possess a new car was not altogether +professional, and he knew it. But he also knew that he was overworked +and underpaid. + +"Who shall I say called?" asked Andover, picking up the packet of bills. + +"Just tell him it was a friend." + +Andover was quite as shrewd in his way as was this strange visitor, who +evidently did not wish to be known. "This entire matter is rather +irregular," he said,--"and the--er--bonus--is necessarily a +confidential matter!" + +"Which suits me,"--and The Spider blinked queerly. + +Dr. Andover stepped to the main doorway. As he bade The Spider +good-night, he told him to call up on the telephone about ten-thirty +the next morning, or to call personally if he preferred. + +The Spider hesitated directly beneath the arc-light at the entrance. +"If I don't call up or show up--you needn't say anything about this +deal to him--but you can tell him he's got a friend on the job." + +The doctor nodded and walked briskly back to the superintendent's +office, where he waited until the secretary appeared, when he turned +over the money that had been paid to him for the operation and a +private room, which The Spider had engaged for two weeks. He told the +secretary to make out a receipt in Peter Annersley's name. "A friend +is handling this for him," he explained. + +Then he sent for the head-nurse. "I would like to have Miss Gray and +Miss Barlow help me," he told her, in speaking of the proposed +operation. + +"Miss Gray is on duty to-night," said the head-nurse. + +"Then if you will arrange to have her get a rest, please. And--oh, +yes, we'll probably need the oxygen. And you might tell Dr. Gleason +that this is a special case and I'd like to have him administer the +anaesthetic." + +Andover strode briskly to the surgical ward and stopped at Pete's +couch. As he stooped and listened to Pete's breathing, the packet of +crisp bills slipped from his inside pocket, and dropped to the floor. + +He was in the lobby, on his way to his car, when Doris came running +after him. "Dr. Andover," she called. "I think you dropped +this,"--and she gave him the packet of bills. + +"Mighty careless of me," he said, feeling in his inside pocket. +"Handkerchief--slipped them in on top of it. Thank you." + +Doris gazed at him curiously. His eyes wavered. "We're going to do +our best to pull him through," he said with forced sprightliness. + +Doris smiled and nodded. But her expression changed as she again +entered the long, dim aisle between the double row of cots. Only that +evening, just before she had talked with Andover about Pete, she had +heard the surgeon tell the house-physician jokingly that all that stood +between him and absolute destitution was a very thin and exceedingly +popular check-book--and Andover had written his personal check for ten +dollars which he had cashed at the office. Doris wondered who the +strange man was that had come in with Andover, an hour ago, and how Dr. +Andover had so suddenly become possessed of a thousand dollars. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +"CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME" + +At exactly ten-thirty the next morning The Spider was at the +information desk of the General Hospital, inquiring for Andover. + +"He's in the operating-room," said the clerk. + +"Then I'll wait." The Spider sidled across to the reception-room and +sat nervously fingering the arm of his chair. Nurses passed and +repassed the doorway, going quietly through the hall. From somewhere +came the faint animal-like wail of a newly born babe. The Spider had +gripped the arm of his chair. A well-gowned woman stopped at the +information desk and left a great armful of gorgeous roses wrapped in +white tissue paper. Presently a man--evidently a laborer--hobbled past +on crutches, his foot bandaged; a huge, grotesque white foot that he +held stiffly in front of him and which he seemed to be following, +rather than guiding. A nurse walked slowly beside him. The Spider +drummed the chair-arm with nervous fingers. His little beady eyes were +constantly in motion, glancing here and there,--at the empty chairs in +the room, at the table with its neatly piled magazines, at a large +picture of the hospital, and a great group of nurses standing on the +stone steps, and then toward the doorway. Presently a nurse came in +and told him that Dr. Andover would be unable to see him for some time: +that the patient just operated on was doing as well as could be +expected. + +"He--he's come through all right?" + +"Yes. You might call up in an hour or so." + +The Spider rose stiffly and put on his hat. + +"Thanks," he said and hobbled out and across the lobby. A cab was +waiting for him, and the driver seemed to know his destination, for he +whipped up his horse and drove south toward the Mexican quarter, +finally stopping at an inconspicuous house on a dingy side street that +led toward the river. The Spider glanced up and down the street before +he alighted. Then he gave the driver a bill quite out of proportion to +his recent service. "You can come about the same time to-morrow," said +The Spider, and he turned and hobbled to the house. + +About noon he came out, and after walking several blocks stopped at a +corner grocery and telephoned to the hospital, asking for Andover, who +informed him that the operation had been successful, as an operation, +but that the patient was in a critical condition--that it would be +several hours before they would dare risk a definite statement as to +his chances of recovery. The surgeon told The Spider that they were +using oxygen, which fact in itself was significant. + +The Spider crossed the street to a restaurant, drank several cups of +coffee, and on his way out bought a supply of cigars. He played +solitaire in his room all that afternoon, smoking and muttering to +himself until the fading light caused him to glance at his watch. He +slipped into his coat and made his way uptown. + +Shortly after seven he entered the hospital. Andover had left word +that he be allowed to see Pete. And again The Spider stood beside +Pete's cot, gazing down upon a face startlingly white in contrast to +his dark hair and black eyebrows--a face drawn, the cheeks pinched, and +the lips bloodless. "You taking care of him?"--and The Spider turned +to Doris. She nodded, wondering if this queer, almost deformed +creature were "The Spider" that Pete had so often talked to when +half-conscious. Whoever he was, her quick, feminine intuition told her +that this man's stiff and awkward silence signified more than any +spoken solicitude; that behind those beady black eyes was a soul that +was tormented with doubt and hope, a soul that had battled through dark +ways to this one great unselfish moment . . . How could one know that +this man risked his life in coming there? Yet she did know it. The +very fact that he was Pete's friend would almost substantiate that. +Had not the papers said that Peter Annersley was a hired gunman of The +Spider's? And although this man had not given his name, she knew that +he was The Spider of Pete's incoherent mutterings. And The Spider, +glancing about the room, gazed curiously at the metal oxygen tank and +then at the other cot. + +"You staying here right along?" he queried. + +"For a while until he is out of danger." + +"When will that be?" + +"I don't know. But I do know that he is going to live." + +"Did the doc say so?" + +Doris shook her head. "No, Dr. Andover thinks he has a chance, but I +_know_ that he will get well." + +"Does Pete know that I been here?" + +"No. The doctor thought it best not to say anything about that yet." + +"I reckon that's right." + +"Is he your son?" asked Doris. + +"No. Just a kid that used to--work for me." + +And without further word, The Spider hobbled to the doorway and was +gone. + +Hour after hour Doris sat by the cot watching the faintly flickering +life that, bereft of conscious will, fought for existence with each +deep-drawn breath. About two in the morning Pete's breathing seemed to +stop. Doris felt the hesitant throb of the pulse and, rising, stepped +to the hall and telephoned for the house-surgeon. + + +"Caught it just in time," he said to the nurse as he stepped back and +watched the patient react to the powerful heart-stimulant. Pete's +breathing became more regular. + +The surgeon had been gone for a few minutes when Pete's heavy lids +opened. + +"It--was gittin'--mighty dark--down there," he whispered. And Pete +stared up at her, his great dark eyes slowly brightening under the +artificial stimulant. Doris bent over him and smoothed his hair back +from his forehead. "I'm the--the Ridin' Kid--from--Powder River," he +whispered hoarsely. "I kin ride 'em comin' or goin'--but I don't wear +no coat next journey. My hand caught in the pocket." He glanced +toward the doorway. "But we fooled 'em. Ed got away, so I reckon I'll +throw in with you, Spider." Pete tried to lift himself up, but the +nurse pressed him gently back. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on his +forehead. Doris put her hand on the back of his. At the touch his +lips moved. "Boca was down there--in the dark--smilin' and tellin' me +it was all right and to come ahead," he whispered. "I was tryin' to +climb out--of that there--cañon . . . Andy throwed his rope . . . +Caught it just in time . . . And Andy he laughs. Reckon he didn't +know--I was--all in . . ." Pete breathed deeply, muttered, and drifted +into an easy sleep. Doris watched him for a while, fighting her own +desire to sleep. She knew that the crisis was past, and with that +knowledge came a physical let-down that left her worn and desperately +weary: not because she had been on duty almost twenty-four hours +without rest--she was young and could stand that--but because she had +given so much of herself to this case from the day Pete had been +brought in--through the operation which was necessarily savage, and up +to the moment when he had fallen asleep, after having passed so close +to the border of the dark Unknown. And now that she knew he would +recover, she felt strangely disinterested in her work at the hospital. +But being a rather practical young person, never in the least morbid, +she attributed this unusual indifference to her own condition. She +would not allow herself to believe that the life she had seen slipping +away, and which she had drawn back from the shadows, could ever mean +anything to her, aside from her profession. And why should it? This +dark-eyed boy was a stranger, an outcast, even worse, if she were to +believe what the papers said of him. Yet he had been so patient and +uncomplaining that first night when she knew that he must have been +suffering terribly. Time and again she had wiped the red spume from +his lips, until at last he ceased to gasp and cough and lay back +exhausted. And Doris could never forget how he had tried to smile as +he told her, whispering hoarsely, "that he was plumb ashamed of makin' +such a doggone fuss." Then day after day his suffering had grown less +as his vitality ebbed. Following, came the operation, an almost +hopeless experiment . . . and that strange creature, The Spider . . . +who had paid for the operation and for this private room . . . Doris +thought of the thousand dollars in bills that she had found and +returned to Andover; and while admiring his skill as a surgeon, she +experienced a sudden dislike for him as a man. It seemed to her that +he had been actually bribed to save Pete's life, and had pocketed the +bribe . . . again it was The Spider . . . What a name for a human +being--yet how well it fitted! The thin bow-legs, the quick, sidling +walk, the furtive manner, the black, blinking eyes . . . Doris yawned +and shivered. Dawn was battling its slow way into the room. A nurse +stepped in softly. Doris rose and made a notation on the chart, told +the nurse that her patient had been sleeping since two o'clock, and +nodding pleasantly left the room. + +The new nurse sniffed audibly. Miss Gray was one of Dr. Andover's +pets! She knew! She had seen them talking together, often enough. +And Andover knew better than to try to flirt with her. What a fuss +they were making about "Miss Gray's cowboy," as Pete had come to be +known among some of the nurses who were not "pets." Her pleasant +soliloquy was interrupted by a movement of Pete's hand. "Kin I have a +drink?" he asked faintly. + +"Yes, dearie," said the nurse, and smiled a large, and toothful smile +as she turned and stepped out into the hall. Pete's listless, dark +eyes followed her. "Fer Gawd's sake!" he muttered. His eyes closed. +He wondered what had become of his honest-to-Gosh nurse, Miss Gray. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +WHITE-EYE + +The third time that The Spider called at the hospital, and, as usual, +in the evening, he was told by the young house-doctor, temporarily in +charge, that he could not see the patient in room 218 without +permission from the physician in charge of the case, as it was after +visiting hours, and, moreover, there had been altogether too much +freedom allowed visitors as it was. This young doctor knew nothing of +The Spider's connection with the Annersley case, and was altogether +unimpressed by The Spider's appearance, save that he mentally labeled +him a "rough-neck" who was evidently pretty badly crippled by +rheumatism. + +The Spider felt tempted to resort to bribery, but there was something +so officious and aggressively professional in the manner of this +"straw-boss"--as The Spider mentally labeled him--that The Spider +hesitated to flatter his egotism by admitting that he held the +whip-hand. + +"Then mebby you can find out how he's getting along?" queried The +Spider, in his high-pitched voice. + +"No objection to that," said the young doctor, reaching for the desk +'phone. "Two-eighteen, please. Two-eighteen? How is your patient +to-night? That so? H-m-m! Oh, this is Miss Gray talking? H-m-m! +Thanks." And he hung up the receiver. + +"The patient is doing very well--exceptionally well. Would you care to +leave any message?" + +"You might tell Doc Andover to leave word that when I call, I get to +see the folks I come to see--and I reckon he'll set you straight." + +"Oh, I didn't--er--know you were a friend of Dr. Andover's. What is +the name, please?" + +"'T wouldn't interest you none, little man. Thanks for the +information." And The Spider hobbled out and clumped stiffly down the +wide stone stairway. + +The young doctor adjusted his glasses and stared into vacancy. "H-m-m! +And he had the nerve to call _me_ 'little man.' Now I should call him +a decidedly suspicious character. Looks something like an overgrown +spider. Birds of a feather," he added sententiously, with an air of +conscious rectitude, and a disregard for the propriety of the implied +metaphor. It is not quite certain whether he had Andover or Pete in +mind. But it is most probable that had he allowed The Spider to see +Pete that evening and talk with him, The Spider would have left El Paso +the next day, as he had planned, instead of waiting until the following +evening, against his own judgment and in direct opposition to that +peculiar mental reaction called "a hunch" by those not familiar with +the niceties of the English language, and called nothing really more +expressive by those who are. + +So far as The Spider knew, he had not been recognized by any one. Yet +with that peculiar intuition of the gunman and killer he knew that he +was marked. He wondered which of his old enemies had found him +out--and when and how that enemy would strike. + +That night he wrote a short letter to Pete, stating that he was in town +and would call to see him the following evening, adding that if he +failed to call Pete was to go to the Stockmen's Security and ask for +the president when he was able to be about. He mailed the letter +himself, walking several blocks to find a box. On his way back a man +passed him who peered at him curiously. The Spider's hand had crept +toward his upper vest-pocket as the other approached. After he passed, +The Spider drew out a fresh cigar and lighted it from the one he was +smoking. And he tossed the butt away and turned and glanced back. "I +wonder what White-Eye is doing in El Paso?" he asked himself. "He knew +me all right." The Spider shrugged his shoulders. His hunch had +proved itself. There was still time to leave town, but the fact that +White-Eye had recognized him and had not spoken was an insidious +challenge, the kind of a challenge which a killer never lets pass. For +the killer, strangely enough, is drawn to his kind through the instinct +of self-preservation, a psychological paradox to the layman, who does +not understand that peculiar pride of the gunman which leads him to +remove a menace rather than to avoid it. Curiosity as to a rival's +ability, his personal appearance, his quality of nerve, the sound of +his voice, has drawn many noted killers together--each anxious to prove +conclusively that he was the better man. And this curiosity, driven by +the high nervous tension of the man who must ever be on the alert, is +insatiable, and is assuaged only by insanity or his own death. The +removal of a rival does not satisfy this hunger to kill, but rather +creates a greater hunger, until, without the least provocation, the +killer will shoot down a man merely to satisfy temporarily this inhuman +and terrible craving. The killer veritably feeds upon death, until +that universal abhorrence of the abnormal, triumphant in the end, +adjusts the quivering balance--and Boot Hill boasts one more wooden +cross. + +The Spider, limping up the stairway to his room, knew that he would not +leave El Paso, knew that he could not leave the town until satisfied as +to what White-Eye's silence meant. And not only that, but he would +find out. He lighted the oil-lamp on the dresser and gazed at himself +in the glass. Then he took off his coat, shaved, washed, and put on a +clean shirt and collar. He took some gold and loose silver from his +money-belt, put on his hat and coat, and hobbled downstairs. He +thought he knew where he could get word of White-Eye's whereabouts, +stopped at a cigar-stand and telephoned for his cab--and his regular +driver. In a few minutes the cab was at the corner. He mentioned a +street number to the driver, who nodded knowingly. Pony Baxter's +place--where the game ran big. No place for a tin-horn. Only the real +ones played at Pony's. So this old-timer who paid so well was going to +take a whirl at the game? The cabby thought he saw a big tip coming. +Being somewhat of a sportsman in his way, and grateful for what The +Spider had already done for him, he drew up within a block of his +destination and, stepping down, told The Spider that Pony's place was +being watched--and had been for more than a week: that the bulls were +out for some strangers who were wanted bad. + +The Spider showed no sign of surprise. "Suppose I was one of 'em, eh?" +he queried. + +"That's none of my business, Captain. I ain't workin' for the force; +I'm workin' for myself." + +"All right. I'll walk down to Pony's place. After I go up, you can +drive down there and wait. I may be five minutes--or a couple of +hours. Here's something to make you forget who you're waiting for if +anybody should ask you." + +The cabby tucked the money in his pocket and climbed back to his seat. +"Don't know if somebody was to ask me," he said to himself, as he +watched The Spider hobble down the next block. "Lemme see," he +continued as he drove slowly along. "Some guy comes up and asks me for +a match and starts talkin' friendly, and mebby asks me to have a drink, +and I get friendly and tell him about that young sport from the East +that's been seein' the town and how somebody over to his hotel must 'a' +told him about the game at Pony's--and how he's upstairs, gettin' his +hair cut--short. Oh, I guess I ain't been in this business eight years +for nothin'." + +But the inquisitive stranger did not appear and the cabby's invention +was wasted. + +The Spider entered the first door to the left of the long hallway. The +room was fitted up as an office, with huge leather-upholstered chairs, +a mahogany center table, and a mahogany desk. In one corner stood a +large safe. On the safe-door was lettered "A. L. Baxter & Co." + +A man with a young, smooth face and silver-white hair was sitting at +the desk. He turned and nodded pleasantly. + +"I want to see Pony," said The Spider. + +"You're talking to him," said the other. "What can I do for you?" + +"You can tell Pony that I want to see him, here," said The Spider. +"And don't worry, he knows me." + +"The name, please." + +"Never mind that. Just take a good look at me--and tell him. He'll +come." + +The other rose and, stepping to the inner door, beckoned to some one in +the room beyond. The Spider seated himself, lighted a cigar, and +leaned back as though thoroughly at home. Presently a big man came in +briskly: a full-bodied, smooth-cheeked man who looked like the +prosperous manager of some legitimate business enterprise, save for the +large diamond horseshoe scintillating in his gray silk tie. + +"Why, hello, Jim!" he cried, evidently surprised. He told his partner +casually that he could go on inside and look after things for a few +minutes. When the other had gone he turned to The Spider. "What can I +do for you, Jim?" + +"Tell me where I can find White-Eye." + +"White-Eye? He hasn't been in here for three or four years. I didn't +know he was in town." + +"That might go with the bulls, Pony. I know White-Eye doesn't hang out +reg'lar here--ain't his kind of a joint. But you can tell me where he +does hang out. And I want to know." + +"You looking for him, Jim?" + +"No. But I've got a hunch he's looking for me." + +"Just how bad do you think he wants to see you?" queried Baxter, +tilting back his swing-chair and glancing sideways at The Spider. + +"About as bad as I want to see him," said The Spider. + +"You haven't been in town for quite a while, Jim." + +"No. Fifteen years, I reckon." + +"You don't change much." + +"I was thinking the same of you; always playing safe. You ought to +know better than to pull a bluff like that on me. But if that is your +game, I call. I want White-Eye." + +Pony Baxter had plenty of nerve. But he knew The Spider. "I haven't +seen White-eye for over three years," he said, turning to his desk. He +tore a memorandum slip from a pad and wrote something on it and handed +it to The Spider. It was simply a number on Aliso Street. The Spider +glanced at it and tore the slip in two. + +"He's stayin' with friends?" queried The Spider. + +"Yes. And I think you know most of them." + +"Thanks for the tip, Pony." + +"You going down there alone, Jim?" + +"I might." + +"I wouldn't," said Baxter. + +"I know dam' well _you_ wouldn't," laughed The Spider. + +Scarcely had The Spider stepped into the cab when four men slouched +from a dark stairway entrance a few doors down the street and watched +the cab turn a distant corner. + +"Well, you missed a good chance," said one of the men, as they moved +slowly toward the entrance to Pony Baxter's. + +"How about you? If you ain't forgetting it was the first one of us +that seen him was to get him." + +"And White-Eye, here, seen him first, when he crawled out of that rig. +If we'd 'a' gone up, instead of standin' here lettin' our feet git +cold--" + +"He must 'a' had his roll with him," said Pino, one of White-Eye's +companions and incidentally a member of that inglorious legion, "The +Men Who Can't Come Back." + +"'T ain't his roll I want," said White-Eye. + +"Too dam' bad about you not wantin' his roll. Any time--" + +"Any time you git The Spider's roll, you got to git him," asserted +another member of this nocturnal quartette, a man whose right arm and +shoulder sagged queerly. + +"The Spider ain't no _kid_, neither,"--and White-Eye paused at the +dimly lighted stairway entrance. + +The man with the deformed shoulder cursed White-Eye. The others +laughed. + +"Let's go git a drink--and then we'll have a talk with Pony. Come on, +Steve." + +They turned and drifted on up the street. Presently they were back at +the stairway entrance. "Pony won't stand for no rough stuff," advised +White-Eye as they turned and climbed the stair. "I'll do the talkin'." + +"I reckon he'll stand for anything we hand him," said Pino. "Fancy +clothes don't cut any figure with me." + +"Nobody that ever got a good look at you would say so," asserted +White-Eye. He paused at the head of the stairs. "I aim to find out +what The Spider wanted up here." + +"Go to it!"--and Pino grinned. + +As they entered the "office," Baxter was talking with his partner, with +whom he exchanged a significant glance as he realized who his visitors +were. The partner excused himself and stepped into the room beyond. + +"Well, boys, what can I do for you?" Baxter's manner was suavely +affable. + +"We're lookin' for a friend," declared White-Eye. + +"I don't think he's here." And Baxter smiled his professional smile. + +"But he's been here," asserted White-Eye. "We ain't here to make a +noise. We jest want to know what The Spider was doin' up here a spell +ago." + +"Oh, Jim? Why, he dropped in to shake hands. I hadn't seen him for +several years. Didn't know he was in town." + +"Feed that soft stuff to the yearlins'," snarled White-Eye. "The +Spider ain't chousin' around El Paso for his health, or yours." + +Baxter was about to say something when Pino stooped and picked up the +pieces of paper which The Spider had torn in two just before he left. +Pino had no special motive in picking up those torn bits of paper. He +simply saw them, picked them up, and rolled them nervously in his +fingers. White-Eye, watching Baxter, saw him blink and in turn watch +Pino's fingers as he twisted and untwisted the bits of paper. + +"He can't keep his hands still," said White-Eye, shrugging his shoulder +toward Pino. "Ever meet Pino. No? Well, he's a artist--when it comes +to drawin'--" + +Pino dropped the bits of paper, rose, and shook hands indifferently +with Baxter. As Pino sat down again, Baxter stooped and casually +picked up the torn pad-leaf on which he had written White-Eye's +address. He turned to his desk and taking a box of cigars from a +drawer passed it around. White-Eye's pin-point pupils glittered. Pony +Baxter seemed mighty anxious to get those two bits of paper out of +sight. White-Eye had seen him drop them in the drawer as he opened it. + +"Where did you send The Spider?" asked White-Eye quickly. + +"Send him! Didn't send him anywhere. He said he was going back to his +hotel." + +White-Eye blinked. He knew that The Spider was not stopping at a +hotel. For some reason Baxter had lied. + +"How's the game to-night?" queried White-Eye. + +"Quiet," replied Baxter. + +"Any strangers inside?" + +"No--not the kind of strangers you mean." + +"Then I reckon we'll take a look in. Don't mind takin' a whirl at the +wheel myself." + +"Come right in," said Baxter, as though relieved, and he opened the +door and stood aside to let them pass. + +A quiet game of poker was running at a table near the door. Farther +down the room, which was spacious and brilliantly lighted, a group were +playing the wheel. At the table beyond the usual faro game was in +progress. All told there were some fifteen men in the room, not +counting the dealers and lookout. One or two men glanced up as +White-Eye and his companions entered and sauntered from table to table. +To the regular habitues of the place, White-Eye and his companions were +simply "rough-necks" to whom Baxter was showing "the joint." + +Presently Baxter excused himself and, telling his visitors to make +themselves at home, strode back to his office. White-Eye and Pino +watched the wheel, while the man with the deformed shoulder and his +companion stood watching the faro game. The room was quiet save for +the soft click of the chips, the whirring of the ball, an occasional +oath, and the monotonous voice of the faro-dealer. + +Pino nudged White-Eye and indicated the little pile of gold that was +stacked before a player at the faro table. White-Eye shook his head +and stepped casually back. Pino sauntered over to him. + +"Chanct for a clean-up?" whispered Pino. + +"No show. The lookout's a gun. I know him. So is that guy at the +wheel. Pony's pardner packs a gat; and that guy standin' over by the +wall, smoking is drawin' down reg'lar pay for jest standin' there, +every night. 'Sides, they ain't enough stuff in sight to take a chanct +for. We ain't organized for this kind of a deal." + +"Then what's the use of hangin' around?" + +"'Cause they was somethin' on that piece of paper you picked up out +there that Pony didn't want us to see--and I aim to find out what it +was." + +"The number of some dame, most like," said Pino, grinning. + +"Did you hear him say The Spider went back to his _hotel_? Well, Pony +is double-crossin' somebody. Jest stick around and keep your eye on +the door." + +Meanwhile The Spider had arrived at the address given him--an empty +basement store in the south end of town. The place was dark and +evidently abandoned. Back of the store was a room in which were two +cheap iron beds, a washstand, and two chairs. The rear door of this +room opened on an alley, and it was through this door that White-Eye +and his companions entered and left the premises, which they had rented +at a low rate from the lessee of the place who now ran a grocery on the +street level, near the corner. + +The Spider had no means of knowing of the back room and thought that +Baxter had sent him to a chance number to get rid of him; or that the +latter would possibly suggest that White-Eye must have left the +neighborhood. + +"Is there a back stairs to Pony's place?" queried The Spider as he +stood by the cab. + +"No. But there's a fire-escape in the alley back of the block. The +last time they raided Pony the bulls got six gents comin' down the iron +ladder." + +"Just drive round that way." The Spider stepped into the cab. + +"You ain't a Government man, are you?" queried cabby. + +"No. I play a lone hand," said The Spider. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +"CLOSE THE CASES" + +Pony Baxter's place, located near the middle of what is commonly termed +a "business block," embraced the space once occupied by a number of +small offices, one of which he had retained as a sort of +reception-room, near the head of the stairway. That he might have a +spacious room for his business, the partitions of the former offices +had been removed, with the exception of those enclosing his office, and +a room at the extreme end of the building which opened on the hall, +near the end window, just over the fire-escape. This room was +expensively fitted up as a lavatory, with marble panels, basins, and +tiling. A uniformed negro with the inevitable whisk-broom was always +in attendance, quite as keen at "getting the dust" as was his employer. +The door to this room was fitted with a spring lock which allowed it to +be opened only from the inside, except with a pass-key. + +The Spider's cab, swinging into the alley, stopped directly beneath the +lower extension of the fire-escape. "Pull over closer to the wall," he +told the driver. Then he climbed to the driver's seat and stepped onto +the iron ladder. "You can drive round to the front and wait," he told +the cabby, who lost no time in getting out of the alley. Like most +nocturnal cabmen, he was quite willing to drive anywhere; but he +sincerely preferred to do his waiting for his fare in a more open +street. + +The window at the rear end of the hall was fastened. The Spider broke +the glass just below the catch with the butt of his gun. He raised the +window and slid into the hallway. + +"Who dat?" came from the lavatory. + +"It's me, Sam," said The Spider thickly, imitating the voice of a man +overcome by drink. "I cut my hand on the window. Want to get in--wash +up--blood--" + +"I ask Misto Baxtuh, suh." + +"Lemme in--quick--or you lose a five-spot. Bleeding bad--want to wash +up--" + +The spring lock clicked softly. Before Sam knew what had happened, The +Spider was in the lavatory and between him and the door to the main +room. "Get going," said The Spider. The amazed negro backed away from +that eloquent menace in The Spider's right hand. +"M-m-m-misto--misto--Captain-- Ah ain't done nuffin!" + +"Git!"--and The Spider indicated the rear window. + +The negro backed into the hall, saw the open window, and vanished +through it without parley. He dropped from the last step of the +fire-escape and picking himself up started to run, with no definite +destination in mind save space. + +As Baxter had said, things were quiet that night. The poker table had +been deserted and the players had left. A few "regulars" still hung +about the faro layout and the wheel. The hired "bouncer" had stepped +into the office to speak to Baxter. It was past twelve. There were no +strangers present save the four roughly dressed men. Baxter was just +telling the bouncer that he knew them, and that he surmised they were +after a certain party, but that that party would not be back there. As +he talked Baxter stepped to the outer door and locked it. It was too +late to expect any worth-while business. + +The Spider, who was in reality looking for Baxter, whom he suspected of +trickery, opened the lavatory door far enough to see into the main +room. In a flash he had placed three of the four men who "wanted" him. + +White-Eye and Longtree were standing near a player at the faro table, +evidently interested for the moment in the play. Near White-Eye, Pino +was rolling a cigarette. Beyond them, at the next table, stood a man +with a deformed shoulder--and The Spider recognized Gary of the +T-Bar-T, watching the few players at the wheel. . . . A film of cigar +smoke eddied round the lamps above the tables. Presently the players +at the faro table rose and left. The dealer put away his cases. The +lookout yawned and took off his green eye-shade. The man with the +deformed shoulder and his companion were moving toward White-Eye when +The Spider slipped through the doorway and sidled toward the middle of +the room. His hat was pushed back. He fumbled at his tie with his +right hand. "White-Eye!" he called. + +The faro-dealer and the lookout jerked round--then slowly backed toward +the side of the room. The man at the wheel paused with his hand in the +air. The players, intent upon the game, glanced up curiously. Pino, +who stood near White-Eye and almost in front of him, dropped his +cigarette. The room became as still as the noon desert. Three of the +four men who bore ancient grudge against The Spider, knew that there +would be no parley--that talk would be useless. The fourth, the man +whom they had addressed as Steve, had but recently associated himself +with them, and had no quarrel with The Spider. In that tense moment, +Gary wished himself well out of it. + +"Lost your nerve, Pino?" laughed The Spider, in his queer, high voice. +"You dropped your cigarette." + +One of the roulette players giggled hysterically. At the sound of that +laugh, White-Eye jerked Pino in front of him. The Spider's gun +appeared as though he had caught it from the air. As it roared, Pino +staggered sideways and fell. White-Eye fired as The Spider, throwing +shot after shot, walked slowly toward him. Suddenly White-Eye coughed +and staggered against the table. With his last shot The Spider dropped +White-Eye, then jerked a second gun from his waistband. Gary, kneeling +behind the faro table, fired over its top. The Spider whirled +half-round, recovered himself, and, sidling toward the table, threw +down on the kneeling man, who sank forward coughing horribly. Within +eight feet of him The Spider's gun roared again. Gary's body jerked +stiff at the shock and then slowly collapsed. The fourth man, +Longtree, with his hands above his head, begged The Spider not to kill +his old pal! The Spider's face, horribly distorted, venomous as a +snake's, colorless and glistening with sweat, twisted queerly as he +spoke: "Kill you, you damned coyote?" And he shot Longtree down as a +man would shoot a trapped wolf. + +Framed in the office doorway stood Pony Baxter, a blue automatic in his +hand. The Spider, leaning against the roulette table, laughed. "Gave +me the double-cross, eh, Pony? How do you like the layout?" He swayed +and clutched at the table. "Don't kill me, Pony!" he cried, in ghastly +mimickry of Longtree's voice. "Don't kill an old pal, Pony!" And the +sound of his voice was lost in the blunt roar of a shot that loosened +Baxter's fingers from the automatic. It clattered to the floor. +Baxter braced himself against the door-frame and, turning, staggered to +the desk 'phone. + +The Spider nodded to the faro-dealer. "Close your cases," he said, and +he hiccoughed and spat viciously. "Get me downstairs--I'm done." + +The dealer, who possessed plenty of nerve himself, was dumb with wonder +that this man, who had deliberately walked into a fight against three +fast guns, was still on his feet. Yet he realized that The Spider had +made his last fight. He was hard hit. "God, what a mess!" said the +dealer as he took The Spider's arm and steadied him to the office. +"You better lay down," he suggested. + +"Got a cab downstairs. General Hospital." + +The driver, who had been taking a nap inside the cab, heard the sound +of shooting, started up, threw back the lap-robe, and stepped to the +sidewalk. He listened, trying to count the shots. Then came silence. +Then another shot. He was aware that his best policy was to leave that +neighborhood quickly. Yet curiosity held him, and finally drew him +toward the dimly lighted stairway. He wondered what had happened. + +"Cab?" somebody called from above. The cabby answered. + +"Give us a hand here," cried a voice from the top of the stairs. "A +man's been shot--bad." + +The cabby clumped up and helped get The Spider to the street. +"Where'll I take him?" he stammered nervously, as he recognized the +shrunken figure. + +"He said something about the General Hospital. He's going--fast." + +"He used to call there, regular," asserted the cabby. "Anybody else +git hurt?" + +"Christ, yes! It's a slaughter-pen up there. Beat it, or he'll cash +in before you can get him to the hospital." + +The cabby pulled up at the General Hospital, leapt down, and hastened +round to the garage. He wakened the night ambulance-driver, stayed +until the driver and an interne had carried The Spider into the +hospital, and then drove away before he could be questioned. + +The house-doctor saw at once that The Spider could not live, +administered a stimulant, and telephoned to the police station, later +asking the ambulance-driver for the cabman's number, which the other +had failed to notice in the excitement. As he hung up the receiver a +nurse told him that the patient was conscious and wanted to speak to +Dr. Andover. The house-doctor asked The Spider if he wished to make a +statement. + +The Spider moved his head in the negative. "I'm done," he whispered, +"but I'd like to see Pete a minute." + +"Pete?" + +"Room 218," said the nurse. + +"Oh, you mean young Annersley. Well, I don't know." + +"He's my boy," said The Spider, using the last desperate argument--an +appeal difficult to ignore. + +"Take him to 218," said the doctor, gesturing toward the stretcher. + +The nurse, who went with them, roused Pete out of a quiet sleep and +told him that they were bringing some one to see him. "Your father," +she said, "who has been seriously injured. He asked to see you." + +Pete could not at first understand what she meant. "All right," he +said, turning his head and gazing toward the doorway. The nurse +stepped into the hall and nodded to the attendants and the doctor. + +They were about to move forward when The Spider gestured feebly to the +doctor. "Get me to my feet." "I won't bother you much after that." +And The Spider, who felt that his strength was going fast, tried to +raise himself on the stretcher. This effort brought the internes to +his side. They lifted him to his feet and shuffled awkwardly through +the doorway. + +Swaying between the internes, his shriveled body held upright by a +desperate effort of will, he fought for breath. + +Pete raised on his elbow, his dark eyes wide. "Spider!" he exclaimed. + +The internes felt The Spider's slackened muscles grow tense as he +endeavored to get closer to the cot. They helped him a step forward. +He pulled his arm free and thrust out his hand. Pete's hand closed on +those limp, clammy fingers. + +"I come ahead of time, pardner. Come to see how--you was--gettin' +along." The Spider's arm dropped to his side. + +"Take him to the other bed there," said the doctor. + +The Spider shook his head. "Just a minute." He nodded toward Pete. +"I want you to do something for me. Go see that party--in letter--fix +you up--he's played square with me--same as you done." + +"But who was it--" began Pete. + +"Old bunch. Trailed me--too close. Got 'em--every dam' one. A más +ver. Tengo que marcharme, compadre." And then, "Close the cases," +said The Spider. + +The internes helped him to the cot on which Doris had rested as she +watched Pete through those dark hours, refusing to leave him till she +knew the great danger had passed. + +Pete lay back staring at the ceiling. He was, stunned by this sudden +calamity. And all at once he realized that it must have been The +Spider who had called to see him several times. Doris had hinted to +Pete that some friend asked after him daily. So The Spider had come to +El Paso to find out if the money had been delivered--risking his life +for the sake of a few thousand dollars! Pete turned and glanced at the +other cot. The doctor was bending over The Spider, who mumbled +incoherently. Presently brisk footsteps sounded in the hallway, and +two men entered the room and stepped to where The Spider lay. They +spoke in low tones to the doctor, who moved back. One of the men--a +heavy-shouldered, red-faced man, whom Pete recognized--asked The Spider +who had shot him, and if he had been in Pony Baxter's place that night. +The Spider's lips moved. The other leaned closer. Dimly The Spider +realized that this was the Law that questioned him. Even at the last +moment his old enemy had come to hunt him out. The Spider's beady +black eyes suddenly brightened. With a last vicious effort he raised +his head and spat in the officer's face. + +The doctor stepped quickly forward. The Spider lay staring at the +ceiling, his sightless eyes dulled by the black shadow of eternal night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +GETTING ACQUAINTED + +It was Pony Baxter who gave the names of the dead gunmen to the police, +confirming the records of White-Eye, Pino, Longtree, and Jim +Ewell--known as The Spider. The identity of the fourth man, he of the +deformed shoulder and shriveled arm, was unknown to Baxter. The police +had no record of him under any alias, and he would have been entered on +their report of findings as "unknown," had not the faro-dealer and the +lookout both asserted that The Spider had called him Gary--in fact had +singled him out unmistakenly, asking him what be had to do with the +quarrel, which evidently concerned but three of the four men whom The +Spider had killed. Pony Baxter, slowly recovering from an all but +fatal gun-shot wound, disclaimed any knowledge of a "frame-up" to get +The Spider, stating that, while aware that the gunmen and The Spider +were enemies, The Spider's sudden appearance was as much of a surprise +to him as it evidently was to the gunmen--and Baxter's serious +condition pretty well substantiated this statement. Baxter's negro was +also questioned--concerning Baxter's story and explaining the +circumstances under which he had admitted The Spider to the back room. + +When confronted with the torn slip of paper on which was written the +address of White-Eye, Baxter admitted that he knew of the rendezvous of +the gunmen, but refused to explain why he had their address in his +possession, and he put a quietus on that phase of the situation by +asking the police why they had not raided the place themselves before +the shooting occurred, as they seemed to have known of it for several +months. Eventually Baxter and the police "fixed it up." The gambler +did a thriving business through the notoriety the affair had given him. +Many came to see the rooms where The Spider had made his last venomous +fight, men who had never turned a card in their lives, and who doubted +the rumors current in the sporting world until actually in the room and +listening to the faro-dealer's cold and impassive account of the men +and the battle. And more often than not these curious souls, who came +to scoff, remained to play. + +Pete, convalescing rapidly, had asked day after day if he might not be +allowed to sit with the other patients who, warmly blanketed, enjoyed +the sunshine on the wide veranda overlooking the city. One morning +Andover gave his consent, restricting Pete's first visit to thirty +minutes. Pete was only too glad of a respite from the monotony of +back-rest and pillow, bare walls, and the essential but soul-wearying +regularity of professional attention. + +Not until Doris had helped him into the wheel-chair did he realize how +weak he was. + +Out on the veranda, his weakness, the pallid faces of the other +convalescents, and even Doris herself, were forgotten as he gazed +across the city and beyond to the sunlit spaces softly glowing beneath +a cloudless sky. Sunlight! He had never known how much it meant, +until then. He breathed deep. His dark eyes closed. Life, which he +had hitherto valued only through sheer animal instinct, seemed to mean +so much more than he had ever imagined it could. Yet not in any +definite way, nor through contemplating any definite attainment. It +was simply good to be alive--to feel the pleasant, natural warmth of +the sun--to breathe the clear, keen air. And all his curiosity as to +what the world might look like--for to one who has come out of the +eternal shadows the world is ever strange--was drowned in the supreme +indifference of absolute ease and rest. It seemed to him as though he +were floating midway between the earth and the sun, not in a weird +dream wherein the subconscious mind says, "This is not real; I know +that I dream"; but actual, in that Pete could feel nothing above nor +beneath him. Being of a very practical turn of mind he straightway +opened his eyes and was at once conscious of the arm of the wheel-chair +beneath his hand and the blanket across his knees. + +He was not aware that some of the patients were gazing at him +curiously--that gossip had passed his name from room to room and that +the papers had that morning printed a sort of revised sequel to the +original story of "The Spider Mystery"--as they chose to call it. + +Doris glanced at her watch. "We'll have to go in," she said, rising +and adjusting Pete's pillow. + +"Oh, shucks! We jest come out!" + +"You've been asleep," said Doris. + +Pete shook his head. "Nope. But I sure did git one good rest. Doc +Andover calls this a vacation, eh? Well, then I guess I got to go back +to work--and it sure is work, holdin' down that bed in there--and +nothin' to do but sleep and eat and--but it ain't so bad when you're +there. Now that there cow-bunny with the front teeth--" + +"S-sh!" Doris flushed, and Pete glanced around, realizing that they +were not alone. + +"Well, I reckon we got to go back to the corral!" Pete sighed heavily. + +Back in bed he watched Doris as she made a notation on the chart of his +"case." He frowned irritably when she took his temperature. + +"The doctor will want to know how you stood your first outing," she +said, smiling. + +Pete wriggled the little glass thermometer round in his mouth until it +stuck up at an assertive angle, as some men hold a cigar, and glanced +mischievously at his nurse. "Why don't you light it?" he mumbled. + +Doris tried not to laugh as she took the thermometer, glanced at it, +and charted a slight rise in the patient's temperature. + +"Puttin' it in that glass of water to cool it off?" queried Pete. + +She smiled as she carefully charted the temperature line. + +"Kin I look at it?" queried Pete. + +She gave the chart to him and he studied it frowningly. "What's this +here that looks like a range of mountains ?" he asked. + +"Your temperature." And she explained the meaning of the wavering line. + +"Gee! Back here I sure was climbin' the high hills! That's a +interestin' tally-sheet." + +Pete saw a peculiar expression in her gray eyes. It was as though she +were searching for something beneath the surface of his superficial +humor; for she knew that there was something that he wanted to +say--something entirely alien to these chance pleasantries. She all +but anticipated his question. + +"Would you mind tellin' me somethin'?" he queried abruptly. + +"No. If there is anything that I can tell you." + +"I was wonderin' who was payin' for this here private room--and reg'lar +nurse. I been sizin' up things--and folks like me don't get such fancy +trimmin's without payin'." + +"Why--it was your--your father." + +Pete sat up quickly. "My father! I ain't got no father. I--I reckon +somebody got things twisted." + +"Why, the papers"--and Doris bit her lip--"I mean Miss Howard, the +nurse who was here that night . . ." + +"When The Spider cashed in?" + +Doris nodded. + +"The Spider wasn't my father. But I guess mebby that nurse thought he +was, and got things mixed." + +"The house-doctor would not have had him brought up here if he had +thought he was any one else." + +"So The Spider said he was my father--so he could git to see me!" Pete +seemed to be talking to himself. "Was he the friend you was tellin' me +called regular?" + +"Yes. I don't know, but I think he paid for your room and the +operation." + +"Don't they make those operations on folks, anyhow, if they ain't got +money?" + +"Yes, but in your case it was a very difficult and dangerous operation. +I saw that Dr. Andover hardly wanted to take the risk." + +"So The Spider pays for everything!" Pete shook his head. "I don't +just sabe." + +"I saw him watching you once--when you were asleep," said Doris. "He +seemed terribly anxious. I was afraid of him--and I felt sorry for +him--" + +Pete lay back and stared at the opposite wall. "He sure was game!" he +murmured. "And he was my friend." + +Pete turned his head quickly as Doris stepped toward the door. "Could +you git me some of them papers--about The Spider?" + +"Yes," she answered hesitatingly, as she left the room. + +Pete closed his eyes. He could see The Spider standing beside his bed +supported by two internes, dying on his feet, fighting for breath as he +told Pete to "see that party--in the letter"--and "that some one had +trailed him too close." And "close the cases," The Spider had said. +The game was ended. + +When Doris came in again Pete was asleep. She laid a folded newspaper +by his pillow, gazed at him for a moment, and stepped softly from the +room. + +At noon she brought his luncheon. When she came back for the tray she +noticed that he had not eaten, nor would he talk while she was there. +But that evening he seemed more like himself. After she had taken his +temperature he jokingly asked her if he bit that there little glass +dingus in two what would happen?" + +"Why, I'd have to buy a new one," she replied, smiling. + +Pete's face expressed surprise. "Say!" he queried, sitting up, "did +The Spider pay you for bein' my private nurse, too?" + +"He must have made some arrangement with Dr. Andover. He put me in +charge of your case." + +"But don't you git anything extra for--for smilin' at +folks--and--coaxin' 'em to eat--and wastin' your time botherin' around +'em most all day?" + +"The hospital gets the extra money. I get my usual salary." + +"You ain't mad at me, be you?" + +"Why, no, why should I be?" + +"I dunno. I reckon I talk kind of rough--and that mebby I said +somethin'--but--would you mind if I was to tell you somethin'. I been +thinkin' about it ever since you brung that paper. It's somethin' +mighty important--and--" + +"Your dinner is getting cold," said Doris. + +"Shucks! I jest got to tell somebody! Did you read what was in that +paper?" + +Doris nodded. + +"About that fella called Steve Gary that The Spider bumped off in that +gamblin'-joint?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, if that's right--and the papers ain't got things twisted, like +when they said The Spider was my father--why, if it _was_ Steve Gary--I +kin go back to the Concho and kind o' start over ag'in." + +"I don't understand." + +"'Course you don't! You see, me and Gary mixed onct--and--" + +Doris' gray eyes grew big as Pete spoke rapidly of his early life, of +the horse-trader, of Annersley and Bailey and Montoya, and young Andy +White--characters who passed swiftly before her vision as she followed +Pete's fortunes up to the moment when he was brought into the hospital. +And presently she understood that he was trying to tell her that if the +newspaper report was authentic he was a free man. His eagerness to +vindicate himself was only too apparent. + +Suddenly he ceased talking. The animation died from his dark eyes. +"Mebby it wa'n't the same Steve Gary," he said. + +"If it had been, you mean that you could go back to your friends--and +there would be no trouble--?" + +Pete nodded. "But I don't know." + +"Is there any way of finding out--before you leave here?" she asked. + +"I might write a letter and ask Jim Bailey, or Andy. They would know." + +"I'll get you a pen and paper." + +Pete flushed. "Would you mind writin' it for me? I ain't no reg'lar, +professional writer. Pop Annersley learned me some--but I reckon Jim +could read your writin' better." + +"Of course I'll write the letter, if you want me to. If you'll just +tell me what you wish to say I'll take it down on this pad and copy it +in my room." + +"Can't you write it here? Mebby we might want to change somethin'." + +"Well, if you'll eat your dinner--" And Doris went for pen and paper. +When she returned she found that Pete had stacked the dishes in a +perilous pyramid on the floor, that the bed-tray might serve as a table +on which to write. + +He watched her curiously as she unscrewed the cap of her fountain pen +and dated the letter. + +"Jim Bailey, Concho--that's over in Arizona," he said, then he +hesitated. "I reckon I got to tell you the whole thing first and mebby +you kin put it down after I git through." Doris saw him eying the pen +intently. "You didn't fetch the ink," he said suddenly. + +Doris laughed as she explained the fountain pen to him. Then she +listened while he told her what to say. + +The letter written, Doris went to her room. Pete lay thinking of her +pleasant gray eyes and the way that she smiled understandingly and +nodded--"When most folks," he soliloquized, "would say something or ask +you what you was drivin' at." + +To him she was an altogether wonderful person, so quietly cheerful, +natural, and unobtrusively competent . . . Then, through some queer +trick of memory, Boca's face was visioned to him and his thoughts were +of the desert, of men and horses and a far sky-line. "I got to get out +of here," he told himself sleepily. And he wondered if he would ever +see Doris Gray again after he left the hospital. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +A PUZZLE GAME + +Dr. Andover, brisk and professionally cheerful, was telling Pete that +so far as he was concerned he could not do anything more for him, +except to advise him to be careful about lifting or straining--to take +it easy for at least a month--and to do no hard riding until the +incision was thoroughly healed. "You'll know when you are really fit," +he said, smiling, "because your back will tell you better than I can. +You're a mighty fortunate young man!" + +"You sure fixed me up fine, Doc. You was sayin' I could leave here +next week?" + +"Yes, if you keep on improving--and I can't see why you should not. +And I don't have to tell you to thank Miss Gray for what she has done +for you. If it hadn't been for her, my boy, I doubt that you would be +here!" + +"She sure is one jim-dandy nurse." + +"She is more than that, young man." Andover cleared his throat. +"There's one little matter that I thought best not to mention until you +were--pretty well out of the woods. I suppose you know that the +authorities will want to--er--talk with you about that shooting +scrape--that chap that was found somewhere out in the desert. The +chief of detectives asked me the other day when you would be around +again." + +"So, when I git out of here they're goin' to arrest me?" + +"Well, frankly, you are under arrest now. I thought it best that you +should know it now. In a general way I gathered that the police +suspect you of having had a hand in the killing of that man who was +found near Sanborn." + +"Well, they can wait till hell freezes afore I'll tell 'em," said Pete. + +"And, meanwhile, you'll also have to--er--wait, I imagine. Have you +any friends who might--er--use their influence? I think you might get +out on bail. I can't say." + +"Nope." + +"Then the best thing that you can do is to tell a straight story and +hope that the authorities will believe you. Well, I've got to go. By +the way, how are you fixed financially? Just let me know if you want +anything?" + +"Thanks, Doc. From what you say I reckon the county will be payin' my +board." + +"I hope not. But you'll need some clothing and underwear--the things +you had on are--" + +Pete nodded. + +"Don't hesitate to ask me,"--and Andover rose. "Your +friend--er--Ewell--arranged for any little contingency that might +arise." + +"Then I kin go most any time?" queried Pete. + +"We'll see how you are feeling next week. Meanwhile keep out in the +sun--but wrap up well. Good-bye!" + +Pete realized that to make a fresh start in life he would have to begin +at the bottom. + +He had ever been inclined to look forward rather than backward--to put +each day's happenings behind him as mere incidents in his general +progress--and he began to realize that these happenings had accumulated +to a bulk that could not be ignored, if the fresh start that he +contemplated were to be made successfully. He recalled how he had felt +when he had squared himself with Roth for that six-gun. But the +surreptitious taking of the six-gun had been rather a mistake than a +deliberate intent to steal. And Pete tried to justify himself with the +thought that all his subsequent trouble had been the result of mistakes +due to conditions thrust upon him by a fate which had slowly driven him +to his present untenable position--that of a fugitive from the law, +without money and without friends. He came to the bitter conclusion +that his whole life had been a mistake--possibly not through his own +initiative, but a mistake nevertheless. He knew that his only course +was to retrace and untangle the snarl of events in which his feet were +snared. Accustomed to rely upon his own efforts--he had always been +able to make his living--he suddenly realized the potency of money; +that money could alleviate suffering, influence authority, command +freedom--at least temporary freedom--and even in some instances save +life itself. + +Yet it was characteristic of Pete that he did not regret anything that +he had done, in a moral sense. He had made mistakes--and he would have +to pay for them--but only once. He would not make these mistakes +again. A man was a fool who deliberately rode his horse into the same +box cañon twice. + +Pete wondered if his letter to Jim Bailey had been received and what +Bailey's answer would be. The letter must have reached Bailey by this +time. And then Pete thought of The Spider's note, advising him to call +at the Stockmen's Security; and of The Spider's peculiar insistence +that he do so--that Hodges would "use him square." + +Pete wondered what it all signified. He knew that The Spider had money +deposited with the Stockmen's Security. The request had something to +do with money, without doubt. Perhaps The Spider had wished him to +attend to some matter of trust--for Pete was aware that The Spider had +trusted him, and had said so, almost with his last breath. But Pete +hesitated to become entangled further in The Spider's affairs. He did +not intend to make a second mistake of that kind. + +Monday of the following week Pete was out on the veranda--listening to +little Ruth, a blue-eyed baby patient who as gravely explained the +mysteries of a wonderful puzzle game of pasteboard cows and horses and +a farmyard "most all cut to pieces," as Ruth said, when Doris stepped +from the hall doorway and, glancing about, finally discovered Pete in +the far corner of the veranda--deeply absorbed in searching for the +hind leg of a noble horse to which little Ruth had insisted upon +attaching the sedate and ignoble hind quarters of a maternal cow. So +intent were they upon their game that neither of them saw Doris as she +moved toward them, nodding brightly to many convalescents seated about +the veranda. + +"Whoa!" said Pete, as Ruth disarranged the noble steed in her eagerness +to fit the bit of pasteboard Pete had handed to her. "Now, I reckon +he'll stand till we find that barn-door and the water-trough. Do you +reckon he wants a drink?" + +"He looks very firsty," said Ruth. + +"Mebby he's hungry, too,"--and Pete found the segment of a mechanically +correct haystack. + +"No!" cried Ruth positively, taking the bit of haystack from Pete; +"wet's put some hay in his house." + +"Then that there cow'll git it--and she's plumb fed up already." + +"Den I give 'at 'ittle cow his breakfuss,"--and the solicitous Ruth +placed the section of haystack within easy reach of a wide-eyed and +slightly disjointed calf--evidently the offspring of the well-fed cow, +judging from the paint-markings of each. + +But suddenly little Ruth's face lost its sunshine. Her mouth quivered. +Pete glanced up at her, his dark eyes questioning. + +"There's lots more hay," he stammered, "for all of 'em." + +"It hurted me," sobbed Ruth. + +"Your foot?" Pete glanced down at the child's bandaged foot, and then +looked quickly away. + +"Ess. It hurted me--and oo didn't hit it." + +"I'll bet it was that doggone ole cow! Let's git her out of this here +corral and turn her loose!" Pete shuffled the cow into a disjointed +heap. "Now she's turned loose--and she won't come back." + +Ruth ceased sobbing and turned to gaze at Doris, who patted her head +and smiled. "We was--stockin' up our ranch," Pete explained almost +apologetically. "Ruth and me is pardners." + +Doris gazed at Pete, her gray eyes warm with a peculiar light. "It's +awfully nice of you to amuse Ruth." + +"Amuse her! My Gosh! Miss Gray, she's doin' the amusin'! When we're +visitin' like this, I plumb forgit--everything." + +"Here's a letter for you," said Doris. "I thought that perhaps you +might want to have it as soon as possible." + +"Thanks, Miss Gray. I reckon it's from Jim Bailey. I--" Pete tore off +the end of the envelope with trembling fingers. Little Ruth watched +him curiously. Doris had turned away and was looking out across the +city. A tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. "Make Pete play wif me," said +Ruth. "My cow's all broke." + +Pete glanced up, slowly slid the unread letter back into the envelope +and tucked it into his shirt. "You bet we'll find that cow if we have +to comb every draw on the ranch! Hello, pardner! Here's her ole head. +She was sure enough investigatin' that there haystack." + +Doris turned away. There was a tense throbbing in her throat as she +moved back to the doorway. Despite herself she glanced back for an +instant. The dark head and the golden head were together over the +wonderful puzzle picture. Just why Pete should look up then could +hardly be explained by either himself or Doris. He waved his hand +boyishly. Doris turned and walked rapidly down the hallway. Her +emotion irritated her. Why should she feel so absolutely silly and +sentimental because a patient, who really meant nothing to her aside +from her profession, should choose to play puzzle picture with a +crippled child, that he might forget for a while his very identity and +those terrible happenings? Had he not said so? And yet he had put +aside the letter that might mean much to him, that he might make Little +Ruth forget her pain in searching for a dismembered pasteboard cow. + +Doris glanced in as she passed Pete's room. Two men were standing +there, expressing in their impatient attitudes that they had expected +to find some one in the room. She knew who they were--men from the +police station--for she had seen them before. + +"You were looking for Mr. Annersley?" she asked. + +"Yes, mam. We got a little business--" + +"He's out on the veranda, playing puzzle picture with a little girl +patient." + +"Well, we got a puzzle picture for him--" began one of the men, but +Doris, her eyes flashing, interrupted him. + +"Dr. Andover left word that he does not want Mr. Annersley to see +visitors without his permission." + +"Reckon we can see him, miss. I had a talk with Doc Andover." + +"Then let me call Mr. Annersley, please. There are so many--patients +out there." + +"All right, miss." + +Doris took Pete's place as she told him. Little Ruth entered a +demurrer, although she liked Doris. "Pete knew all about forces and +cows. He must come wight back . . ." + +"What a beautiful bossy!" said Doris as Ruth rearranged the slightly +disjointed cow. + +"Dat a _cow_," said Ruth positively. "Pete says dat a _cow_!" + +"And what a wonderful pony!" + +"Dat a _force_, Miss Dowis. Pete say dat a force." + +It was evident to Doris that Pete was an authority, not without honor +in his own country, and an authority not to be questioned, for Ruth +gravely informed Doris that Pete could "wide" and "wope" and knew +everything about "forces" and "cows." + +Meanwhile Pete, seated on the edge of his cot, was telling the +plain-clothes men that he was willing to go with them whenever they +were ready, stipulating, however, that he wanted to visit the +Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank first, and as soon as possible. +Incidentally he stubbornly refused to admit that he had anything to do +with the killing of Brent, whom the sheriff of Sanborn had finally +identified as the aforetime foreman of the Olla. + +"There's nothing personal about this, young fella," said one of the men +as Pete's dark eyes blinked somberly. "It's our business, that's all." + +"And it's a dam' crawlin' business," asserted Pete. "You couldn't even +let The Spider cross over peaceful." + +"I reckon he earned all he got," said one of the men. + +"Mebby. But it took three fast guns to git him--and he put _them_ out +of business first. I'd 'a' liked to seen some of you rubber-heeled +heifers tryin' to put the irons on him." + +"That kind of talk won't do you no good when you're on the stand, young +fella. It ain't likely that Sam Brent was your first job. Your record +reads pretty strong for a kid." + +"Meanin' Gary? Well, about Gary"--Pete fumbled in his shirt. "I got a +letter here" . . . He studied the closely written sheet for a few +seconds, then his face cleared. "Jest run your eye over that. It's +from Jim Bailey, who used to be my fo'man on the Concho." + +The officers read the letter, one gazing over the other's shoulder, +"Who's this Jim Bailey, anyhow?" + +"He's a white man--fo'man of the Concho, and my boss, onct." + +"Well, you're lucky if what he says is so. But that don't square you +with the other deal." + +"There's only one man that could do that," said Pete. "And I reckon he +ain't ridin' where you could git him." + +"That's all right, Annersley. But even if you didn't get Brent, you +were on that job. You were running with a tough bunch." + +"Who's got my gun?" queried Pete abruptly. + +"It's over to the station with the rest of your stuff." + +"Well, it wa'n't a forty-five that put Brent out of business. My gun +is." + +"You can tell that to the sheriff of Sanborn County. And you'll have a +hard time proving that you never packed any other gun." + +"You say it's the sheriff of Sanborn County that'll be wantin' to know?" + +"Yes. We're holding you for him." + +"That's different. I reckon I kin talk to _him_." + +"Well, you'll get a chance. He's in town---waiting to take you over to +Sanborn." + +"I sure would like to have a talk with him," said Pete. "Would you +mind tellin' him that?" + +"Why--no. We'll tell him." + +"'Cause I aim to take a little walk this afternoon," asserted Pete, +"and mebby he'd kind o' like to keep me comp'ny." + +"You'll have company--if you take a walk," said one of the detectives +significantly. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS + +Pete did not return to the veranda to finish his puzzle game with +little Ruth. He smiled rather grimly as he realized that he had a +puzzle game of his own to solve. He lay on the cot and his eyes closed +as he reviewed the vivid events in his life, from the beginning of the +trail, at Concho, to its end, here in El Paso. It seemed to spread out +before him like a great map: the desert and its towns, the hills and +mesas, trails and highways over which men scurried like black and red +ants, commingling, separating, hastening off at queer tangents, meeting +in combat, disappearing in crevices, reappearing and setting off again +in haste, searching for food, bearing strange burdens, scrambling +blindly over obstacles--collectively without seeming purpose--yet +individually bent upon some quest, impetuous and headstrong in their +strange activities. "And gittin' nowhere," soliloquized Pete, "except +in trouble." + +He thought of the letter from Bailey, and, sitting up, re-read it +slowly. So Steve Gary had survived, only to meet the inevitable end of +his kind. Well, Gary was always hunting trouble . . . Roth, the +storekeeper at Concho, ought to have the number of that gun which Pete +packed. If the sheriff of Sanborn was an old-timer he would know that +a man who packed a gun for business reasons did not go round the +country experimenting with different makes and calibers. Only the +"showcase" boys in the towns swapped guns. Ed Brevoort had always used +a Luger. Pete wondered if there had been any evidence of the caliber +of the bullet which had killed Brent. If the sheriff were an old-timer +such evidence would not be overlooked. + +Pete got up and wandered out to the veranda. The place was deserted. +He suddenly realized that those who were able had gone to their noon +meal. He had forgotten about that. He walked back to his room and sat +on the edge of his cot. He was lonesome and dispirited. He was not +hungry, but he felt decidedly empty. This was the first time that +Doris had allowed him to miss a meal, and it was her fault! She might +have called him. But what did she care? In raw justice to her--why +_should_ she care? + +Pete's brooding eyes brightened as Doris came in with a tray. She had +thought that he had rather have his dinner there. "I noticed that you +did not come down with the others," she said. + +Pete was angry with himself. Adam-like he said he wasn't hungry anyhow. + +"Then I'll take it back," said Doris sweetly, + +Adam-like, Pete decided that he was hungry. "Miss Gray," he blurted, +"I--I'm a doggone short-horn! I'm goin' to eat. I sure want to square +myself." + +"For what?" + +Doris was gazing at him with a serene directness that made him feel +that his clothing was several sizes too large for him. He realized +that generalities would hardly serve his turn just then. + +"I was settin' here feelin' sore at the whole doggone outfit," he +explained. "Sore at you--and everybody." + +"Well?" said Doris unsmilingly. + +"I'm askin' you to forgit that I was sore at you." Pete was not +ordinarily of an apologetic turn, and he felt that he pretty thoroughly +squared himself. + +"It really doesn't matter," said Doris, as she placed his tray on the +table and turned to go. + +"I reckon you're right." And his dark eyes grew moody again. + +"There's a man in the reception-room waiting to see you," said Doris. +"I told him you were having your dinner." + +"Another one, eh? Oh, I was forgittin'. I got a letter from Jim +Bailey"--Pete fumbled in his shirt--"and I thought mebby--" + +"I hope it's good news." + +"It sure is! Would you mind readin' it--to yourself--sometime?" + +"I--think I'd rather not," said Doris hesitatingly. + +Pete's face showed so plainly that he was hurt that Doris regretted her +refusal to read the letter. To make matters worse--for himself--Pete +asked that exceedingly irritating and youthful question, "Why?" which +elicits that distinctly unsatisfactory feminine answer, "Because." +That lively team "Why" and "Because" have run away with more chariots +of romance, upset more matrimonial bandwagons, and spilled more beans +than all the other questions and answers men and women have uttered +since that immemorial hour when Adam made the mistake of asking Eve why +she insisted upon his eating an apple right after breakfast. + +Doris was not indifferent to his request that she read the letter, but +she was unwilling to let Pete know it, and a little fearful that he +might interpret her interest for just what it was--the evidence of a +greater solicitude for his welfare than she cared to have him know. + +Pete, like most lusty sons of saddle-leather, shied at even the shadow +of sentiment--in this instance shying at his own shadow. He rode wide +of the issue, turning from the pleasant vista of who knows what +imaginings, to face the imperative challenge of immediate necessity, +which was, first, to eat something, and then to meet the man who waited +for him downstairs who, Pete surmised, was the sheriff of Sanborn +County. + +"If you don't mind tellin' him I'll come down as soon as I eat," said +Pete as he pulled up a chair. + +Doris nodded and turned to leave. Pete glanced up. She had not gone. +"Your letter,"--and Doris proffered the letter which he had left on the +cot. Pete was about to take it when he glanced up at her. She was +smiling at him. "You don't know how funny you look when you frown and +act--like--like a spoiled child," she laughed. "Aren't you ashamed of +yourself?" + +"I--I reckon I am," said Pete, grinning boyishly. + +"Ashamed of yourself?" + +"Nope! A spoiled kid, like you said. And I ain't forgittin' who +spoiled me." + +The letter, the man downstairs and all that his presence implied, past +and future possibilities, were forgotten in the brief glance that Doris +gave him as she turned in the doorway. And glory-be, she had taken the +letter with her! Pete gazed about the room to make sure that he was +not dreaming. No, the letter had disappeared--and but a moment ago +Doris had had it. And she still had it. "Well, she'll know I got one +or two friends, anyhow," reflected Pete as he ate his dinner. "When +she sees how Jim talks--and what he said Ma Bailey has to say to +me--mebby she'll--mebby--Doggone it! Most like she'll just hand it +back and smile and say she's mighty glad--and--but that ain't no sign +that I'm the only guy that ever got shot up, and fixed up, and turned +loose by a sure-enough angel . . . Nope! She ain't a angel--she's +real folks, like Ma Bailey and Andy and Jim. If I ain't darned careful +I'm like to find I done rid my hoss into a gopher-hole and got throwed +bad." + +Meanwhile "the man downstairs" was doing some thinking himself. That +morning he had visited police headquarters and inspected Pete's gun and +belongings--noting especially the hand-carved holster and the +heavy-caliber gun, the factory number of which he jotted down in his +notebook. Incidentally he had borrowed a Luger automatic from the +miscellaneous collection of weapons taken from criminals, assured +himself that it was not loaded, and slipped it into his coat-pocket. +Later he had talked with the officials, visited the Mexican +lodging-house, where he had obtained a description of the man who had +occupied the room with Pete, and stopping at a restaurant for coffee +and doughnuts, had finally arrived at the hospital prepared to hear +what young Annersley had to say for himself. + +Sheriff Jim Owen, unofficially designated as "Sunny Jim" because of an +amiable disposition, which in no way affected his official +responsibilities, was a dyed-in-the-wool, hair-cinched, range-branded, +double-fisted official, who scorned nickel-plated firearms, hard-boiled +hats, fancy drinks, and smiled his contempt for the rubber-heeled +methods of the city police. Sheriff Owen had no rubber-heeled +tendencies. He was frankness itself, both in peace and in war. It was +once said of him, by a lank humorist of Sanborn, that Jim Owen never +wasted any time palaverin' when _he_ was flirtin' with death. That he +just met you with a gun in one hand and a smile in the other, and you +could take your choice--or both, if you was wishful. + +The sheriff was thinking, his hands crossed upon his rotund stomach and +his bowed legs as near crossed as they could ever be without an +operation. He was pretty well satisfied that the man upstairs, who +that pretty little nurse had said would be down in a few minutes, had +not killed Sam Brent. He had a few pertinent reasons for this +conclusion. First, Brent had been killed by a thirty-caliber, +soft-nosed bullet, which the sheriff had in his vest-pocket. Then, +from what he had been told, he judged that the man who actually killed +Brent would not have remained in plain sight in the lodging-house +window while his companion made his get-away. This act alone seemed to +indicate that of the two the man who had escaped was in the greater +danger if apprehended, and that young Annersley had generously offered +to cover his retreat so far as possible. Then, from the lodging-house +keeper's description of the other man, Jim Owen concluded that he was +either Ed Brevoort or Slim Harper, both of whom were known to have been +riding for the Olla. And the sheriff knew something of Brevoort's +record. + +Incidentally Sheriff Owen also looked up Pete's record. He determined +to get Pete's story and compare it with what the newspapers said and +see how close this combined evidence came to his own theory of the +killing of Brent. He was mentally piecing together possibilities and +probabilities, and the exact evidence he had, when Pete walked into the +reception-room. + +"Have a chair," said Sheriff Owen. "I got one." + +"I'm Pete Annersley," said Pete. "Did you want to see me?" + +"Thought I'd call and introduce myself. I'm Jim Owen to my friends. +I'm sheriff of Sanborn County to others." + +"All right, Mr. Owen," said Pete, smiling in spite of himself. + +"That's the idea--only make it Jim. Did you ever use one of these?" +And suddenly Sheriff Owen had a Luger automatic in his hand. Pete +wondered that a man as fat as the little sheriff could pull a gun so +quickly. + +"Why--no. I ain't got no use for one of them doggone stutterin' +smoke-wagons." + +"Here, too," said Owen, slipping the Luger back into his pocket. +"Never shot one of 'em in my life. Ever try one?" + +"I--" Pete caught himself on the verge of saying that he had tried Ed +Brevoort's Luger once. He realized in a flash how close the sheriff +had come to trapping him. "I never took to them automatics," he +asserted lamely. + +Pete had dodged the question. On the face of it this looked as though +Pete might have been trying to shield himself by disclaiming any +knowledge of that kind of weapon. But Owen knew the type of man he was +talking to--knew that he would shield a companion even more quickly +than he would shield himself. + +"Sam Brent was killed by a bullet from a Luger," stated Owen. + +Pete's face expressed just the faintest shade of relief, but he said +nothing. + +"I got the bullet here in my pocket. Want to see it?" And before Pete +could reply, the sheriff fished out the flattened and twisted bullet +and handed it to Pete, who turned it over and over, gazing at it +curiously. + +"Spreads out most as big as a forty-five," said Pete, handing it back. + +"Yes--but it acts different. Travels faster--and takes more along with +it. Lot of 'em used in Texas and across the line. Ever have words +with Sam Brent?" + +"No. Got along with him all right." + +"Did he pay your wages reg'lar?" + +"Yes." + +"Ever have any trouble with a man named Steve Gary?" + +"Yes, but he's--" + +"I know. Used to know the man that got him. Wizard with a gun. +Meaner than dirt--" + +"Hold on!" said Pete. "He was my friend." + +"--to most folks," continued the rotund sheriff. "But I've heard said +he'd do anything for a man he liked. Trouble with him was he didn't +like anybody." + +"Mebby he didn't," said Pete indifferently. + +"Because he couldn't trust anybody. Ever eat ice-cream?" + +"Who--me?" + +The sheriff smiled and nodded. + +"Nope. Ma Bailey made some onct, but--" + +"Let's go out and get some. It's cooling and refreshing and +it's--ice-cream. Got a hat?" + +"Up in my room." + +"Go get it. I'll wait." + +"You mean?"--and Pete hesitated. + +"I don't mean anything. Heard you was going for a walk this afternoon. +Thought I'd come along. Want to get acquainted. Lonesome. Nobody to +talk to. Get your hat." + +"Suppose I was to make a break--when we git outside?" said Pete. + +Sheriff Owen smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That little nurse, +the one with the gray eyes--that said you were having dinner--is she +your reg'lar nurse?" + +Pete nodded. + +"Well, you won't," said the sheriff. + +"How's that?" queried Pete. + +"I talked with her. Sensible girl. Break _her_ all up if her patient +was to make a break:--because"--and the sheriff's eyes ceased to +twinkle, although he still smiled--"because I'd have to break _you_ all +up. Hate to do it. Hate to make her feel bad." + +"Oh, shucks," said Pete. + +"You're right--shucks. That's what you'd look like. I pack a +forty-five--same as you. We can buy a hat--" + +"I'll get it." And Pete left the room. + +He could not quite understand Sheriff Owen. In fact Pete did not come +half so close to understanding him as the sheriff came to understanding +Pete. But Pete understood one thing--and that was that Jim Owen was +not an easy proposition to fool with. + +"Now where do we head for?" said Owen as they stood at the foot of the +hospital steps. + +"I was goin' to the bank--the Stockmen's Security." + +"Good bank. You couldn't do better. Know old E.H. myself. Used to +know him better--before he got rich. No--this way. Short cut. You +got to get acquainted with your legs again, eh? Had a close call. A +little shaky?" + +"I reckon I kin make it." + +"Call a cab if you say the word." + +"I--I figured I could walk," said Pete, biting his lips. But a few +more steps convinced him that the sheriff was taking no risk whatever +in allowing him his liberty. + +"Like to see old E.H. myself," stated the sheriff. "Never rode in a +cab in my life. Let's try one." + +And the sprightly sheriff of Sanborn County straightway hailed a +languorous cabby who sat dozing on the "high seat" of a coupe to which +was attached the most voluptuous-looking white horse that Pete had ever +seen. Evidently the "hospital stand" was a prosperous center. + +"We want to go to the Stockmen's Security Bank," said the sheriff, as +the coupe drew up to the curb. The driver nodded. + +Pete leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. Owen +glanced at him and shook his head. There was nothing vicious or brutal +in that face. It was not the face of a killer. + +Pete sat up suddenly. "I was forgittin' I was broke," and he turned to +Owen. + +"No. There's sixty-seven dollars and two-bits of yours over at the +station, along with your gun and a bundle of range clothes." + +"I forgot that." + +"Feel better?" + +"Fine--when I'm settin' still." + +"Well, we're here. Go right in. I'll wait." + +Pete entered the bank and inquired for the president, giving the +attendant his name in lieu of the card for which he was asked. He was +shown in almost immediately, and a man somewhat of The Spider's type +assured him that he was the president and, as he spoke, handed Pete a +slip of paper such as Pete had never before seen. + +"You're Peter Annersley?" queried Hodges. + +"Yes. What's this here?" + +"It's more money than I'd want to carry with me on the street," said +Hodges. "Have you anything that might identify you?" + +"What's the idee?" + +"Mr. Ewell had some money with us that he wished transferred to you, in +case anything happened to him. I guess you know what happened." Then +reflectively, "Jim was a queer one." + +"You mean The Spider wanted me to have this?" + +"Yes. That slip of paper represents just twenty-four thousand dollars +in currency. If you'll just endorse it--" + +"But it ain't my money!" said Pete. + +"You're a fool if you don't take it, young man. From what I have heard +you'll need it. It seems that Jim took a fancy to you. Said you had +played square with him--about that last deposit, I suppose. You don't +happen to have a letter with you, from him, I suppose, do you?" + +"I got this,"--and Pete showed President Hodges The Spider's note, +which Hodges read and returned. "That was like Jim. He wouldn't +listen to me." + +"And this was his money?" Pete was unable to realize the significance +of it all. + +"Yes. Now it's yours. You're lucky! Mighty lucky! Just endorse the +draft--right here. I'll have it cashed for you." + +"Write my name?" + +"Yes, your full name, here." + +"And I git twenty-four thousand dollars for this?" + +"If you want to carry that much around with you. I'd advise you to +deposit the draft and draw against it." + +"If it's mine, I reckon I'd like to jest git it in my hands onct, +anyhow. I'd like to see what that much money feels like." + +Pete slowly wrote his name, thinking of The Spider and Pop Annersley as +he did so. Hodges took the draft, pressed a button, and a clerk +appeared, took the draft, and presently returned with the money in gold +and bank-notes of large denomination. + +When he had gone out, Hodges turned to Pete. "What are you going to do +with it? It's none of my business--now. But Jim and I were +friends--and if I can do anything--" + +"I reckon I'll put it back in--to my name," said Pete. "I sure ain't +scared to leave it with you--for The Spider he weren't." + +Hodges smiled grimly, and pressed a button on his desk. "New account," +he told the clerk. + +Pete sighed heavily when the matter had been adjusted, the +identification signature slips signed, and the bank-book made out in +his name. + +Hodges himself introduced Pete at the teller's window, thanked Pete +officially for patronizing the bank, and shook hands with him. "Any +time you need funds, just come in--or write to me," said Hodges. +"Good-bye, and good luck." + +Pete stumbled out of the bank and down the steps to the sidewalk. He +was rich--worth twenty-four thousand dollars! But why had The Spider +left this money to him? Surely The Spider had had some other +friend--or some relative . . . ? + +"Step right in," said Sheriff Owen. "You look kind of white. Feeling +shaky?" + +"Some." + +"We want to go to the General Hospital," said the sheriff. + +Pete listened to the deliberate plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk of the white +mare's large and capable feet as the cab whirred softly along the +pavement. "I suppose you'll be takin' me over to Sanborn right soon," +he said finally. + +"Well, I expect I ought to get back to my family," said the sheriff. + +"I didn't kill Sam Brent," asserted Pete. + +"I never thought you did," said the sheriff, much to Pete's surprise. + +"Then what's the idee of doggin' me around like I was a blame coyote?" + +"Because you have been traveling in bad company, son. And some one in +that said company killed Sam Brent." + +"And I got to stand for it?" + +"Looks that way. I been all kinds of a fool at different times, but +I'm not fool enough to ask you who killed Sam Brent. But I advise you +to tell the judge and jury when the time comes." + +"That the only way I kin square myself?" + +"I don't say that. But it will help." + +"Then I don't say." + +"Thought you wouldn't. It's a case of circumstantial evidence. Brent +was found in that cactus forest near the station. The same night two +men rode into Sanborn and left their horses at the livery-stable. +These men took the train for El Paso, but jumped it at the crossing. +Later they were trailed to a rooming-house on Aliso Street. One of +them--and this is the queer part of it--got away after shooting his +pardner. The rubber heels in this town say these two men quarreled +about money--" + +"That's about all they know. Ed and me never--" + +"You don't mean Ed Brevoort, do you?" + +"There's more 'n one Ed in this country." + +"There sure is. Old E.H. Hodges--he's Ed; and there's Ed Smally on the +force here, and Ed Cummings, the preacher over to Sanborn. Lots of +Eds. See here, son. If you want to get out of a bad hole, the +quickest way is for you to tell a straight story. Save us both time. +Been visiting with you quite a spell." + +"Reckon we're here," said Pete as the cab stopped. + +"And I reckon you're glad of it. As I was saying, we been having quite +a visit--getting acquainted. Now if you haven't done anything the law +can hold you for, the more I know about what you have done the better +it will be for you. Think that over. If you can prove you didn't kill +Brent, then it's up to me to find out who did. Get a good sleep. I'll +drift round sometime to-morrow." + +Back in his room Pete lay trying to grasp the full significance of the +little bank-book in his pocket. He wondered who would stop him if he +were to walk out of the hospital that evening or the next morning, and +leave town. He got up and strode nervously back and forth, fighting a +recurrent temptation to make his escape. + +He happened to glance in the mirror above the washstand. "That's the +only fella that kin stop me," he told himself. And he thought of Ed +Brevoort and wondered where Brevoort was, and if he were in need of +money. + +Dr. Andover, making his afternoon rounds, stepped in briskly, glanced +at Pete's flushed face, and sitting beside him on the cot, took his +pulse and temperature with that professional celerity that makes the +busy physician. "A little temperature. Been out today?" + +"For a couple of hours." + +Andover nodded. "Well, young man, you get right into bed." + +The surgeon closed the door. Pete undressed grumblingly. + +"Now turn over. I want to look at your back. M-mm! Thought so. A +little feverish. Did you walk much?" + +"Nope! We took a rig. I was with the sheriff." + +"I see! Excitement was a little too much for you. You'll have to go +slow for a few days." + +"I'm feelin' all right," asserted Pete. + +"You think you are. How's your appetite?" + +"I ain't hungry." + +Andover nodded. "You'd better keep off your feet to-morrow." + +"Shucks, Doc! I'm sick of this here place!" + +Andover smiled. "Well, just between ourselves, so am I. I've been +here eight years. By the way, how would you like to take a ride with +me, next Thursday? I expect to motor out to Sanborn." + +"In that machine I seen you in the other day?" + +"Yes. New car. I'd like to try her out on a good straightaway--and +there's a pretty fair road up on this end of the mesa." + +"I'd sure like to go! Say, Doc, how much does one of them automobiles +cost?" + +"Oh, about three thousand, without extras." + +"How fast kin you go?" + +"Depends on the road. My car is guaranteed to do seventy-five on the +level." + +"Some stepper! You could git to Sanborn and back in a couple of hours." + +"Not quite. I figure it about a four-hour trip. I'd be glad to have +you along. Friend of mine tells me there's a thoroughbred saddle-horse +there that is going to be sold at auction. I've been advertising for a +horse for my daughter. You might look him over and tell me what you +think of him." + +"I reckon I know him already," said Pete. + +"How's that?" + +"'Cause they's no thoroughbred stock around Sanborn. If it's the one +I'm thinkin' about, it was left there by a friend of mine." + +"Oh--I see! I remember, now. Sanborn is where you--er--took the train +for El Paso?" + +"We left our hosses there--same as the paper said." + +"H-mm! Well, I suppose the horse is to be sold for charges. Sheriff's +sale, I understand." + +"Oh, you're safe in buyin' _him_ all right. And he sure is a good one." + +"Well, I'll speak to the chief. I imagine he'll let you go with me." + +Pete shook his head. "Nope. He wouldn't even if he had the say. But +the sheriff of Sanborn County has kind of invited me to go over there +for a spell. I guess he figured on leavin' here in a couple of days." + +"He can't take you till I certify that you're able to stand the +journey," said Andover brusquely. + +"Well, he's comin' to-morrow. I'm dead sick of stayin' here. Can't +you tell him I kin travel?" + +"We'll see how you feel to-morrow. Hello! Here's Miss Gray. What, +six o'clock! I had no idea . . . Yes, a little temperature, Miss +Gray. Too much excitement. A little surface inflammation--nothing +serious. A good night's rest and he'll be a new man. Good-night." + +Pete was glad to see Doris. Her mere presence was restful. He sighed +heavily, glanced up at her and smiled. "A little soup, Miss Gray. +It's awful excitin'. Slight surface inflammation on them boiled beets. +Nothin' serious--they ain't scorched. A good night's rest and the +cook'll be a new man tomorrow. Doc Andover is sure all right--but I +always feel like he was wearin' kid gloves and was afraid of gittin' +'em dirty, every time he comes in." + +Doris was not altogether pleased by Pete's levity and her face showed +it. She did not smile, but rearranged the things on the tray in a +preoccupied manner, and asked him if there was anything else he wanted. + +"Lemme see?" Pete frowned prodigiously. "Got salt and pepper and +butter and sugar; but I reckon you forgot somethin' that I'm wantin' a +whole lot." + +"What is it?" + +"You're forgittin' to smile." + +"I read that letter from Mr. Bailey." + +"I'm mighty glad you did, Miss Gray. I wanted you to know what was in +that letter. You'd sure like Ma Bailey, and Jim and Andy. Andy was my +pardner--when--afore I had that trouble with Steve Gary. No use tryin' +to step round it now. I reckon you know all about it." + +"And you will be going back to them--to your friends on the ranch?" + +"Well--I aim to. I got to go over to Sanborn first." + +"Sanborn? Do you mean--?" + +"Jest what you're thinkin', Miss Gray. I seen a spell back how you was +wonderin' that I could josh about my grub, and Doc Andover. Well, I +got in bad, and I ain't blamin' nobody--and I ain't blamin' myself--and +that's why I ain't hangin' my head about anything I done. And I ain't +kickin' because I got started on the wrong foot. _I'm_ figurin' how I +kin git started on the other foot--and keep a-goin'." + +"But why should you tell me about these things? I can't help you. And +it seems terrible to think about them. If I were a man--like Dr. +Andover--" + +"I reckon you're right," said Pete. "I got no business loadin' you up +with all my troubles. I'm goin' to quit it. Only you been kind o' +like a pardner--and it sure was lonesome, layin' here and thinkin' +about everything, and not sayin' a word to nobody. But I jest want you +to know that I didn't kill Sam Brent--but I sure would 'a' got him--if +somebody hadn't been a flash quicker than me, that night. Brent was +after the money we was packin', and he meant business." + +"You mean that--some one killed him in self-defense?" + +"That's the idee. It was him or us." + +"Then why don't you tell the police that?" + +"I sure aim to. But what they want to know is who the fella was that +got Brent." + +"But the papers say that the other man escaped." + +"Which is right." + +"And you won't tell who he is?" + +"Nope." + +"But why not--if it means your own freedom?" + +"Mebby because they wouldn't believe me anyhow." + +"I don't think that is your real reason. Oh, I forgot to return your +letter. I'll bring it next time." + +"I'll be goin' Thursday. Doc Andover he's goin' over to Sanborn and he +ast me to go along with him." + +"You mean--to stay?" + +"For a spell, anyhow. But I'm comin' back." + +Doris glanced at her wrist watch and realized that it was long past the +hour for the evening meal. "I'm going out to my sister's to-morrow, +for the day. I may not see you before you leave," + +Pete sat up. "Shucks! Well, I ain't sayin' thanks for what you done +for me, Miss Gray. 'Thanks' sounds plumb starvin' poor and rattlin', +side of what I want to tell you. I'd be a'most willin' to git shot +ag'in--" + +"Don't say that!" exclaimed Doris. + +"I would be shakin' hands with you," said Pete. "But this here is just +'Adios,' for I'm sure comin' back." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +"A LAND FAMILIAR" + +The following day Pete had a long talk with Sheriff Owen, a talk which +resulted in the sheriff's accompanying Andover and Pete on their desert +journey to Sanborn. + +Incidentally Pete gave his word that he would not try to escape. It +was significant, however, that the little sheriff expressed a +preference for the back seat, even before Andover, who had invited him +to make the journey, asked him if he cared to ride in front. The +sheriff's choice was more a matter of habit than preference, for, alone +upon the ample seat of the touring-car, he was shuttled ignominiously +from side to side and bounced and jolted until, during a stop for +water, he informed Andover that "he sure would have to pull leather to +stay with the car." + +The surgeon, a bit inclined to show off, did not hesitate to "step on +her," when the going was at all good. And any one familiar with the +road from El Paso to Sanborn is aware of just how good even the best +going is. Any one unfamiliar with that road is to be congratulated. + +Pete enjoyed the ride, as it brought him once more into the open +country. The car whirred on and on. It seemed to him as though he +were speeding from a nightmare of brick and stone and clamor into the +wide and sun-swept spaces of a land familiar and yet strange. + +They reached Sanborn about noon, having made about one hundred and +fifty miles in something like four hours. + +After a wash and a meal at the hotel, they strolled over to the +livery-stable to inspect the horse that Andover thought of buying. A +small crowd had collected at the stables, as the auction was advertised +to take place that afternoon. The sheriff himself started the bidding +on the thoroughbred, followed by the liveryman, who knew about what he +could get for the horse in El Paso. Andover raised his bid, which was +quickly raised in turn by the sheriff. Pete realized that Andover +really wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when the +bidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither the +liveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither of +them really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you want +him, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundred +less than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle--but +he's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle as +your gran'-mother." + +The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was a +pause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring with +his partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the price to two +hundred and fifty. + +"I'm through," said the liveryman. + +"Sold to--name, please--sold to Doctor John Andover for two hundred and +fifty dollars," said the auctioneer. Then, after a facetious +dissertation on thoroughbreds as against cow-ponies, Blue Smoke was led +out. Pete's face went red. Then he paled. He had not forgotten that +Blue Smoke was to be sold, but he had taken it for granted that he +would be allowed to reclaim him. Pete stepped over to the sheriff and +was about to enter a protest--offer to pay the board-bill against Blue +Smoke, when the bidding began with an offer of twenty-five dollars. +This was quickly run up to seventy-five when Pete promptly bid one +hundred, which was a fair auction price, although every man there knew +that Blue Smoke was worth more. + +"I'm bid one hundred twenty-five," cried the auctioneer, as a young, +bow-legged cowboy raised Pete's bid. + +"One-fifty," said Pete without hesitation. + +The sheriff glanced at Pete, wondering if he would borrow the money +from Andover to make good his bid. But Pete was watching the +auctioneer's gavel--which happened to be a short piece of rubber +garden-hose. "Third and last chance!" said the auctioneer. "Nobody +want that pony as a present? All right--goin', I say! Goin', I say +_ag'in_! Gone! B' Gosh! at one hundred an' fifty dollars, to that +young gent over there that looks like he could ride him. What's the +name?" + +"Pete Annersley." + +Several in the crowd turned and gazed curiously at Pete. But Pete's +eyes were upon Blue Smoke--his horse--the horse that had carried him +faithfully so many desert miles--a cow-pony that could "follow a +mountain trail all day and finish, a-steppin' high." + +"Much obliged for your advice about the thoroughbred," said Andover as +he stepped close to Pete. "Is that the pony you used to ride?" + +"He sure is. Say, Doc, I got the money to pay for him, but would you +mind writin' out a check. I ain't wise to this bankin' business yet." + +"Why--no. I'll do that. I--er--of course--I'm a little short myself. +New car--and this horse for my daughter. But I think I can manage. +You want to borrow a hundred and fifty?" + +"Say, Doc, you got me wrong! I got the makin's all right, but I don't +jest sabe rollin' 'em." Pete dug into his coat-pocket and fetched up a +check-book. "Same as you paid for your hoss with." + +"This is Stockmen's Security. You have an account there?" + +"That's what the president was callin' it. I call it dough. I got the +book." And Pete dug into his pocket again, watching Andover's face as +that astonished individual glanced at the deposit to Pete's credit. + +"Well, you're the limit!"--and the doctor whistled. "What will you +spring next?" + +"Oh, it's _mine_, all right. A friend was leavin' it to me. He's +crossed over." + +"I s-e-e. Twenty-four thousand dollars! Young man, that's more money +than I ever had at one time in my life." + +"Same here,"--and Pete grinned. "But it don't worry me none." + +"I'll make out the check for you." And Andover pulled out his fountain +pen and stepped over to the auctioneer's stand. Pete signed the check +and handed it to the auctioneer. + +"Don't know this man," said the auctioneer, as he glanced at the +signature. + +"I'll endorse it," volunteered Andover quickly. + +"All right, Doc." + +And Andover, whose account was as close to being overdrawn as it could +be and still remain an account, endorsed the check of a man worth +twenty-four thousand-odd dollars, and his endorsement was satisfactory +to the auctioneer. So much for professional egoism and six-cylinder +prestige. + +Sheriff Owen, who had kept a mild eye on Pete, had noted this +transaction. After Blue Smoke had been returned to the stables, he +took occasion to ask Pete if he were still a partner to the +understanding that he was on his honor not to attempt to escape. + +"I figured that deal was good till I got here," said Pete bluntly. + +"Just so, son. That's where my figuring stopped, likewise. Too much +open country. If you once threw a leg over that blue roan, I can see +where some of us would do some riding." + +"If I'd been thinkin' of leavin' you, it would 'a' been afore we got +here, sheriff." + +"So it's 'sheriff' now, and not Jim, eh?" + +"It sure is--if you're thinkin' o' lockin' me up. You treated me white +back there in El Paso--so I'm tellin' you that if you lock me up--and I +git a chanct, I'll sure vamose." + +Pete's assertion did not seem to displease the sheriff in the least. +To the contrary, he smiled affably. + +"That's fair enough. And if I _don't_ lock you up, but let you stay +over to the hotel, you'll hang around town till this thing is settled, +eh?" + +"I sure will." + +"Will you shake on that?" + +Pete thrust out his hand. "That goes, Jim." + +"Now you're talking sense, Pete. Reckon you better run along and see +what the Doc wants. He's waving to you." + +Andover sat in his car, drawing on his gloves. "I've arranged to have +the horse shipped to me by express. If you don't mind, I wish you +would see that he is loaded properly and that he has food and water +before the car leaves--that is"--and Andover cleared his throat--"if +you're around town tomorrow. The sheriff seems to allow you a pretty +free hand--possibly because I assured him that you were not physically +fit to--er--ride a horse. Since I saw that bank-book of yours, I've +been thinking more about your case. If I were you I would hire the +best legal talent in El Paso, and fight that case to a finish. You can +pay for it." + +"You mean for me to hire a lawyer to tell 'em I didn't kill Sam Brent?" + +"Not exactly that--but hire a lawyer to _prove_ to the judge and jury +that you didn't kill him." + +"Then a fella's got to pay to prove he didn't do somethin' that he's +arrested for, and never done?" + +"Often enough. And he's lucky if he has the money to do it. Think it +over--and let me know how you are getting along. Miss Gray will be +interested also." + +"All right. Thanks, Doc. I ain't forgittin' you folks." + +Andover waved his hand as he swung the car round and swept out of town. +Pete watched him as he sped out across the mesa. + +Sheriff Owen was standing in the livery-stable door across the street +as Pete turned and started toward him. Midway across the street Pete +felt a sharp pain shoot through his chest. It seemed as though the air +had been suddenly shut from his lungs and that he could neither speak +nor breathe. He heard an exclamation and saw Owen coming toward him. +Owen, who had seen him stop and sway, was asking a question. A dim +blur of faces--an endless journey along a street and up a narrow +stairway--and Pete lay staring at yellow wall-paper heavily sprinkled +with impossible blue roses. Owen was giving him whiskey--a sip at a +time. + +"How do you feel now?" queried the sheriff. + +"I'm all right. Somethin' caught me quick--out there." + +"Your lungs have been working overtime. Too much fresh air all at +once. You'll feel better tomorrow." + +"I reckon you won't have to set up and watch the front door," said +Pete, smiling faintly. + +"Or the back door. You're in the Sanborn House--room 11, second floor, +and there's only one other floor and that's downstairs. If you want +any thing--just pound on the floor. They'll understand." + +"About payin' for my board--" + +"That's all right. I got your money--and your other stuff that I might +need for evidence. Take it easy." + +"Reckon I'll git up," said Pete. "I'm all right now." + +"Better wait till I come back from the office. Be back about six. Got +to write some letters. Your case--called next Thursday." And Sheriff +Owen departed, leaving Pete staring at yellow wallpaper sprinkled with +blue roses. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +"OH, SAY TWO THOUSAND" + +Just one week from the day on which Pete arrived in Sanborn he was +sitting in the witness chair, telling an interested judge and jury, and +a more than interested attorney for the defense, the story of his +life--"every hour of which," the attorney for the defense shrewdly +observed in addressing the court, "has had a bearing upon the case." + +Pete spoke quietly and at times with considerable unconscious humor. +He held back nothing save the name of the man who had killed Brent, +positively refusing to divulge Brevoort's name. His attitude was +convincing--and his story straightforward and apparently without a +flaw, despite a spirited cross-examination by the State. The trial was +brief, brisk, and marked by no wrangling. Sheriff Owen's testimony, +while impartial, rather favored the prisoner than otherwise. + +In his address to the jury, Pete's attorney made no appeal in respect +to the defendant's youth, his struggle for existence, or the +defendant's willingness to stand trial, for Pete had unwittingly made +that appeal himself in telling his story. The attorney for the defense +summed up briefly, thanking the jury for listening to him--and then +suddenly whirled and pointed his finger at the sheriff. + +"I ask you as sheriff of Sanborn County why you allowed the defendant +his personal liberty, unguarded and unattended, pending this trial." + +"Because he gave his word that he would not attempt to escape," said +Sheriff Owen. + +"That's it!" cried the attorney. "The defendant _gave his word_. And +if Sheriff Owen, accustomed as he is to reading character in a man, was +willing to take this boy's word as a guarantee of his presence here, on +trial for his life, is there a man among us who (having heard the +defendant testify) is willing to stand up and say that he doubts the +defendant's word? If there is I should like to look at that man! No! + +"Gentlemen, I would ask you to recall the evidence contained in the +letter written by former employers of the defendant, substantiating my +assertion that this boy has been the victim of circumstances, and not +the victim of perverse or vicious tendencies. Does he look like a +criminal? Does he act like a criminal? I ask you to decide." + +The jury was out but a few minutes, when they filed into court and +returned a verdict of "Not guilty." + +The attorney for the defense shook hands with Pete, and gathered up his +papers. + +Outside the courtroom several of the jury expressed a desire to make +Pete's acquaintance, curiously anxious to meet the man who had known +the notorious Spider personally. Pete was asked many questions. One +juror, a big, bluff cattleman, even offered Pete a job--"in case he +thought of punchin' cattle again, instead of studyin' law"--averring +that Pete "was already a better lawyer than that shark from El Paso, at +any turn of the trial." + +Finally the crowd dwindled to Owen, the El Paso lawyer, two of Owen's +deputies, and Pete, who suggested that they go over to the hotel until +train-time. + +When Pete came to pay the attorney, whom Andover had secured following +a letter from Pete, the attorney asked Pete how much he could afford. +Pete, too proud to express ignorance, and feeling mightily impressed by +the other's ability, said he would leave that to him. + +"Well, including expenses, say two thousand dollars," said the attorney. + +Pete wrote the check and managed to conceal his surprise at the amount, +which the attorney had mentioned in such an offhand way. "I'm thankin' +you for what you done," said Pete. + +"Don't mention it. Now, I'm no longer your legal adviser, Annersley, +and I guess you're glad of it. But if I were I'd suggest that you go +to some school and get an education. No matter what you intend to do +later, you will find that an education will be extremely useful, to say +the least. I worked my way through college--tended furnaces in winter +and cut lawns in summer. And from what Andover tells me, you won't +have to do that. Well, I think I'll step over to the station; train's +due about now." + +"You'll tell Doc Andover how it come out?" + +"Of course. He'll want to know. Take care of yourself. Good-bye!" + +Owen and his deputies strolled over to the station with the El Paso +attorney. Pete, standing out in front of the hotel, saw the train pull +in and watched the attorney step aboard. + +"First, Doc Andover says to hire a good lawyer, which I done, and good +ones sure come high." Pete sighed heavily--then grinned. "Well, say +two thousand--jest like that! Then the lawyer says to git a education. +Wonder if I was to git a education what the professor would be tellin' +me to do next. Most like he'd be tellin' me to learn preachin' or +somethin'. Then if I was to git to be a preacher, I reckon all I could +do next would be to go to heaven. Shucks! Arizona's good enough for +me." + +But Pete was not thinking of Arizona alone--of the desert, the hills +and the mesas, the cañons and arroyos, the illimitable vistas and the +color and vigor of that land. Persistently there rose before his +vision the trim, young figure of a nurse who had wonderful gray +eyes . . . "I'm sure goin' loco," he told himself. "But I ain't so +loco that she's goin' to know it." + +"I suppose you'll be hitting the trail over the hill right soon," said +Owen as he returned from the station and seated himself in one of the +ample chairs on the hotel veranda. "Have a cigar." + +Pete shook his head. + +"They're all right. That El Paso lawyer smokes 'em." + +"They ought to be all right," asserted Pete. + +"Did he touch you pretty hard?" + +"Oh, say two thousand, jest like that!" + +The sheriff whistled. "Shooting-scrapes come high." + +"Oh, I ain't sore at him. What makes me sore is this here law that +sticks a fella up and takes his money--makin' him pay for somethin' he +never done. A poor man would have a fine chance, fightin' a rich man +in court, now, wouldn't he?" + +"There's something in that. The _Law_, as it stands, is all right." + +"Mebby. But she don't stand any too steady when a poor man wants to +fork her and ride out of trouble. He's got to have a morral full of +grain to git her to stand--and even then she's like to pitch him if she +gits a chanct. I figure she's a bronco that never was broke right." + +"Well,"--and Owen smiled,--"we got pitched this time. We lost our +case." + +"You kind o' stepped up on the wrong side," laughed Pete. + +"I don't know about that. _Somebody_ killed Sam Brent." + +"I reckon they did. But supposin'--'speakin' kind o' offhand'--that +you had the fella--and say I was witness, and swore the fella killed +Brent in self-defense--where would he git off?" + +"That would depend entirely on his reputation--and yours." + +"How about the reputation of the fella that was killed?" + +"Well, it was Brent's reputation that got you off to-day, as much as +your own. Brent was foreman for The Spider, which put him in bad from +the start, and he was a much older man than you. He was the kind to do +just what you said he did--try to hold you up and get The Spider's +money. It was a mighty lucky thing for you that you managed to get +that money to the bank before they got you. You were riding straight +all right, only you were on the wrong side of the fence, and I guess +you knew it." + +"I sure did." + +"Well, it ain't for me to tell you which way to head in. You know what +you're doing. You've got what some folks call Character, and plenty of +it. But you're wearin' a reputation that don't fit." + +"Same as clothes, eh?"--and Pete grinned. + +"Yes. And you can change _them_--if you want to change 'em." + +"But that there character part stays jest the same, eh?" + +"Yes. You can't change that." + +"Don't know as I want to. But I'm sure goin' to git into my other +clothes, and take the trail over the hill that you was talkin' about." + +"There are six ways to travel from here,"--and the sheriff's eyes +twinkled. + +"Six? Now I figured about four." + +"Six. When it comes to direction, the old Hopis had us beat by a +couple of trails. They figured east, west, north, and south, straight +down and straight up." + +"I git you, Jim. Well, minin' never did interest me none--and as for +flyin', I sure been popped as high as I want to go. I reckon I'll jest +let my hoss have his head. I reckon him and me has got about the same +idee of what looks good." + +"That pony of yours has never been in El Paso, has he?" queried the +sheriff. + +"Nope. Reckon it would be mighty interestin' for him--and the folks +that always figured a sidewalk was jest for folks and not for +hosses--but I ain't lookin' for excitement, nohow." + +"Reckon that blue roan will give you all you want, any way you ride. +He hasn't been ridden since you left him here." + +"Yes--and it sure makes me sore. Doc Andover said I was to keep off a +hoss for a week yet. Sanborn is all right--but settin' on that hotel +porch lookin' at it ain't." + +"Well, I'd do what the Doc says, just the same. He ought to know." + +"I see--he ought to. He sure prospected round inside me enough to know +how things are." + +"You might come over to my office when you get tired of sitting around +here. There ain't anything much to do--but I've got a couple of old +law books that might interest you--and a few novels--and if you want +some real excitement I got an old dictionary--" + +"That El Paso lawyer was tellin' me I ought to git a education. Don't +know but what this is a good chanct. But I reckon I'll try one of them +novels first. Mebby when I git that broke to gentle I can kind o' ride +over and fork one of them law books without gittin' throwed afore I git +my spurs hooked in good. But I sure don't aim to take no quick +chances, even if you are ridin' herd for me." + +"That lawyer was right, Pete. And if I had had your chance, money, and +no responsibilities--at your age, I wouldn't have waited to pack my +war-bag to go to college." + +"Well, I figured _you_ was educated, all right. Why, that there lawyer +was sayin' right out in court about you bein' intelligent and +well-informed, and readin' character." + +"He was spreading it on thick, Pete. Regular stuff. What little I +know I got from observation--and a little reading." + +"Well, I aim to do some lookin' around myself. But when it comes to +readin' books--" + +"Reckon I'll let you take 'Robinson Crusoe'--it's a bed-rock story. +And if you finish that before you leave, I'll bet you a new Stetson +that you'll ask for another." + +"I could easy win that hat,"--and Pete grinned. + +"Not half as easy as you could afford to lose it." + +"Meanin' I could buy one 'most any time?" + +"No. I'll let you figure out what I meant." And the sturdy little +sheriff heaved himself out of a most comfortable chair and waddled up +the street, while Pete stared after him trying to reconcile bow-legs +and reading books, finally arriving at the conclusion that education, +which he had hitherto associated with high collars and helplessness, +might perhaps be acquired without loss of self-respect. "It sure +hadn't spoiled Jim Owen," who was "as much of a real man as any of +'em"--and could handle talk a whole lot better than most men who +boasted legs like his. Why, even that El Paso lawyer had complimented +Owen on his "concise and eloquent summary of his findings against the +defendant." And Pete reflected that his lawyer had not thrown any +bouquets at any one else in that courtroom. + +Just how much a little gray-eyed nurse in El Paso had to do with Pete's +determination to browse in those alien pastures is a matter for +speculation--but a matter which did not trouble Pete in the least, +because it never occurred to him; evident in his confession to Andy +White, months later: "I sure went to it with my head down and my ears +laid back, takin' the fences jest as they come, without stoppin' to +look for no gate. I sure jagged myself on the top-wire, frequent, but +I never let that there Robinson Crusoe cuss git out of sight till I run +him into his a home-corral along with that there man-eatin' nigger of +his'n." + +So it would seem that not even the rustle of skirts was heard in the +land as Pete made his first wild ride across the pleasant pastures of +Romance--for Doris had no share in this adventure, and, we are told, +the dusky ladies of that carnivorous isle did not wear them. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +A NEW HAT--A NEW TRAIL + +The day before Pete left Sanborn he strolled over to the sheriff's +office and returned the old and battered copy of "Robinson Crusoe," +which he had finished reading the night previous. "I read her, clean +through," asserted Pete, "but I'd never made the grade if you hadn't +put me wise to that there dictionary. Gosh! I never knowed there was +so many ornery words bedded down in that there book." + +"What do you think of the story?" queried the sheriff. + +"If that Robinson Crusoe guy had only had a hoss instead of a bunch of +goats, he sure could have made them natives ramble. And he sure took a +whole lot of time blamin' himself for his hard luck--always a-settin' +back, kind o' waitin' for somethin'--instead of layin' out in the brush +and poppin' at them niggers. He wa'n't any too handy at readin' a +trail, neither. But he made the grade--and that there Friday was sure +one white nigger." + +"Want to tackle another story?" queried Owen, as he put the book back +on the shelf. + +"If it's all the same to you, I'd jest as soon read this one over +ag'in. I was trailin' that old Crusoe hombre so clost I didn't git +time to set up and take in the scenery." + +In his eagerness to re-read the story Pete had forgotten about the +wager. Owen's eyes twinkled as he studied Pete's face. "We had a +bet--" said Owen. + +"That's right! I plumb forgot about that. You said you bet me a new +hat that I'd ask you for another book. Well--what you grinnin' at, +anyhow? 'Cause you done stuck me for a new lid? Oh, I git you! You +said _another_ book, and I'm wantin' to read the same one over again. +Shucks! I ain't goin' to fore-foot you jest because you rid into a +loop layin' in the tall grass where neither of us seen it." + +"I lose on a technicality. I ought to lose. Now if I had bet you a +new hat that you would want to keep on reading instead of that you'd +ask for _another_ book--" + +"But this ain't no law court, Jim. It was what you was meanin' that +counts." + +"Serves me right. I was preaching to you about education--and I'm game +to back up the idea--even if I did let my foot slip. Come on over to +Jennings's with me and I'll get that hat." + +"All right!" And Pete rolled a smoke as the sheriff picked up several +addressed letters and tucked them in his pocket. "I was goin' over to +the post-office, anyway." + +They crossed to the shady side of the street, the short, ruddy little +sheriff and the tall, dark cowboy, each more noticeable by contrast, +yet neither consciously aware of the curious glances cast at them by +occasional townsfolk, some of whom were small enough to suspect that +Pete and the sheriff had collaborated in presenting the evidence which +had made Pete a free man; and that they were still collaborating, as +they seemed very friendly toward each other. + +Pete tried on several hats and finally selected one. "Let's see how it +looks on you," he said, handing it to the sheriff. "I don't know how +she looks." + +Owen tried the hat on, turning to look into the mirror at the end of +the counter. Pete casually picked up the sheriff's old hat and glanced +at the size. + +"Reckon I'll take it," said Pete, as Owen returned it. "This here one +of mine never did fit too good. It was Andy's hat." + +Certain male gossips who infested the groceries, pool-halls, and +post-office of Sanborn, shook their heads and talked gravely about +bribery and corruption and politics and what not, when they learned +that the sheriff had actually bought a hat for that young outlaw that +he was so mighty thick with. "And it weren't no fairy-story neither. +Bill Jennings sold the hat hisself, and the sheriff paid for it, and +that young Annersley walked out of the store with said hat on his +_head_. Yes, sir! Things looked mighty queer." + +"Things would 'a' looked a mighty sight queerer if he'd 'a' walked out +with it on his foot," suggested a friend of Owen's who had been +buttonholed and told the alarming news. + +Meanwhile Pete attended to his own business, which was to get his few +things together, pay his hotel-bill, settle his account with the +sheriff--which included cab-hire in El Paso--and write a letter to +Doris Gray--the latter about the most difficult task he had ever faced. +He thought of making her some kind of present--but his innate good +sense cautioned him to forego that pleasure for a while, for in making +her a present he might also make a mistake--and Pete was becoming a bit +cautious about making mistakes, even though he did think that that +green velvet hat with a yellow feather, in the millinery store in +Sanborn, was about the most high-toned ladies' sky-piece that he had +ever beheld. Pete contented himself with buying a new Stetson for +Sheriff Owen--to be delivered after Pete had left town. + +Next morning, long before the inhabitants of Sanborn had thrown back +their blankets, Pete was saddling Blue Smoke, frankly amazed that the +pony had shown no evidence of his erstwhile early-morning activities. +He wondered if the horse were sick. Blue Smoke looked a bit fat, and +his eye was dull--but it was the dullness of resentment rather than of +poor physical condition. Well fed, and without exercise, Blue Smoke +had become more or less logy, and he looked decidedly disinterested in +life as Pete cautiously pulled up the front cinch. + +"He's too doggone quiet to suit me," Pete told the stable-man. + +"He's thinkin'," suggested that worthy facetiously. + +"So am I," asserted Pete, not at all facetiously. + +Out in the street Pete "cheeked" Blue Smoke, and swung up quickly, +expecting the pony to go to it, but Smoke merely turned his head and +gazed at the livery with a sullen eye. + +"He's sad to leave his boardin'-house,"--and Pete touched Smoke with +the spur. Smoke further surprised Pete by striking into a mild +cow-trot, as they turned the corner and headed down the long road at +the end of which glimmered the far brown spaces, slowly changing in +color as the morning light ran slanting toward the west. + +"Nothin' to do but go," reflected Pete, still a trifle suspicious of +Blue Smoke's gentlemanly behavior. The sun felt warm to Pete's back. +The rein-chains jingled softly. The saddle creaked a rhythmic +complaint of recent disuse. + +Pete, who had said good-bye to the sheriff the night before, turned his +face toward the open with a good, an almost too good, horse between his +knees and a new outlook upon the old familiar ranges and their devious +trails. + +Past a somber forest of cacti, shot with myriad angling shadows, +desolate and forbidding, despite the open sky and the morning sun, Pete +rode slowly, peering with eyes aslant at the dense growth close to the +road, struggling to ignore the spot. Despite his determination, he +could not pass without glancing fearsomely as though he half-expected +to see something there--something to identify the spot as that shadowy +place where Brent had stood that night . . . + +Blue Smoke, hitherto as amiably disposed to take his time as was Pete +himself, shied suddenly. Through habit, Pete jabbed him with the spur, +to straighten him back in the road again. Pete had barely time to +mutter an audible "I thought so!" when Blue Smoke humped himself. Pete +slackened to the first wild lunge, grabbed off his hat and swung it as +Blue Smoke struck at the air with his fore feet, as though trying to +climb an invisible ladder. Pete swayed back as the horse came down in +a mighty leap forward, and hooking his spurs in the cinch, rocked to +each leap and lunge like a leaf caught up in a desert whirlwind. When +Pete saw that Smoke's first fine frenzy had about evaporated, he urged +him to further endeavors with the spurs, but Blue Smoke only grunted +and dropped off into a most becoming and gentlemanly lope. And Pete +was not altogether displeased. His back felt as though it had been +seared with a branding-iron, and the range to the west was heaving most +indecorously, cavorting around the horizon as though strangely excited +by Blue Smoke's sudden and seemingly unaccountable behavior. + +"I reckon we're both feelin' better!" Pete told the pony. "I needed +jest that kind of a jolt to feel like I was livin' ag'in. But you +needn't be in such a doggone hurry to go and tell your friends how good +you're feelin'. Jest come down off that lope. We got all day to git +there." + +Blue Smoke shook his head as Pete pulled him to a trot. The cactus +forest was behind them. Ahead lay the open, warm brown in the sun, and +across it ran a dwindling grayish line, the road that ran east and west +across the desert,--a good enough road as desert roads go, but Pete, +despite his satisfaction in being out in the open again, grew somewhat +tired of its monotonously even wagon-rutted width, and longed for a +trail--a faint, meandering trail that would swing from the road, dip +into a sand arroyo, edge slanting up the farther bank, wriggle round a +cluster of small hills, shoot out across a mesa, and climb slowly +toward those hills to the west, finally to contort itself into +serpentine switchbacks as it sought the crest--and once on the crest +(which was in reality but the visible edge of another great mesa), +there would be grass for a horse and cedar-wood for a fire, and water +with which to make coffee. + +Pete had planned that his first night should be spent in the open, with +no other companions than the friendly stars. As for Blue Smoke, well, +a horse is the best kind of a pal for a man who wishes to be alone, a +pal who takes care of himself, never complains of weariness, and eats +what he finds to eat with soulful satisfaction. + +Pete made his first night's camp as he had planned, hobbled Blue Smoke, +and, having eaten, he lay resting, his head on his saddle and his gaze +fixed upon the far glory of the descending sun. The sweet, acrid +fragrance of cedar smoke, the feel of the wind upon his face, the +contented munching of his pony, the white radiance of the stars that +came quickly, and that indescribable sense of being at one with the +silences, awakened memories of many an outland camp-fire, when as a boy +he had journeyed with the horse-trader, or when Pop Annersley and he +had hunted deer in the Blue Range. And it seemed to Pete that that had +been but yesterday--"with a pretty onnery kind of a dream in between," +he told himself. + +As the last faint light faded from the west and the stars grew big, +Pete thanked those same friendly stars that there would be a +To-morrow--with sunlight, silence, and a lone trail to ride. Another +day and he would reach old Flores's place in the cañon--but Boca would +not be there. Then he would ride to Showdown.--Some one would be at +The Spider's place . . . He could get feed for his horse . . . And +the next day he would ride to the Blue and camp at the old cabin. +Another day and he would be at the Concho . . . Andy, and Jim, and Ma +Bailey would be surprised . . . No, he hadn't come back to stay . . . +Just dropped in to say "Hello!" . . . + +Pete smiled faintly as a coyote shrilled his eternal plaint. This was +something like it. The trembling Pleiades grew blurred. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +THE OLD TRAIL + +The following afternoon Pete, stiff and weary from his two days' ride, +entered the southern end of Flores's cañon and followed the trail along +the stream-bed--now dry and edged with crusted alkali--until he came +within sight of the adobe. In the half-light of the late afternoon he +could not distinguish objects clearly, but he thought he could discern +the posts of the pole corral and the roof of the meager stable. Nearer +he saw that there was no smoke coming from the mud chimney of the +adobe, and that the garden-patch was overgrown with weeds. + +No one answered his call as he rode up and dismounted. He found the +place deserted and he recalled the Mexican woman's prophecy. + +He pushed open the sagging door and entered. There was the +oilcloth-covered table and the chairs--a broken box in the middle of +the room, an old installment-house catalogue, from which the colored +prints had been torn, an empty bottle--and in the kitchen were the +rusted stove and a few battered and useless cooking-utensils. An odor +of stale grease pervaded the place. In the narrow bedroom--Boca's +room---was a colored fashion-plate pinned on the wall. + +Pete shrugged his shoulders and stepped out. Night was coming swiftly. +He unsaddled Blue Smoke and hobbled him. The pony strayed off up the +stream-bed. Pete made a fire by the corral, ate some beans which he +warmed in the can, drank a cup of coffee, and, raking together some +coarse dried grass, turned in and slept until the sound of his pony's +feet on the rocks of the stream-bed awakened him. He smelt dawn in the +air, although it was still dark in the cañon, and having in mind the +arid stretch between the cañon and Showdown, he made breakfast. He +caught up his horse and rode up the trail toward the desert. On the +mesa-edge he re-cinched his saddle and turned toward the north. + + +Flores, who with his wife was living at The Spider's place, recognized +him at once and invited him in. + +"What hit this here town, anyhow?" queried Pete. "I didn't see a soul +as I come through." + +Flores shrugged his shoulders. "The vaqueros from over there"--and he +pointed toward the north--"they came--and now there is but this +left"--and he indicated the saloon. "The others they have gone." + +"Cleaned out the town, eh? Reckon that was the T-Bar-T and the boys +from the Blue and the Concho. How'd they come to miss you?" + +"I am old--and my wife is old--and after they had drank the +wine--leaving but little for us--they laughed and said that we might +stay and be dam': that we were too old to steal cattle." + +"Uh-huh. Cleaned her out reg'lar! How's the señora?" + +Flores touched his forehead. "She is thinking of Boca--and no one else +does she know." + +"Gone loco, eh? Well, she ain't so bad off at that--seein' as _you're_ +livin' yet. No, I ain't comin' in. But you can sell me some +tortillas, if you got any." + +"It will be night soon. If the señor--" + +"Go ask the Señora if she has got any tortillas to sell. I wouldn't +bush in there on a bet. Don't you worry about my health." + +"We are poor, señor! We have this place, and the things--but of the +money I know nothing. My wife she has hidden it." + +"She ain't so crazy as you think, if that's so. Do you run this +place--or are you jest starvin' to death here?" + +"There is still a little wine--and we buy what we may need of +Mescalero. If you will come in--" + +"So they missed old Mescalero! Well, he's lucky. No, I don't come in. +I tried boardin' at your house onct." + +"Then I will get the tortillas." And Flores shuffled into the saloon. +Presently he returned with a half-dozen tortillas wrapped up in an old +newspaper. Pete tossed him a dollar, and packing the tortillas in his +saddle-pockets, gazed round at the town, the silent and deserted +houses, the empty street, and finally at The Spider's place. + +Old Flores stood in the doorway staring at Pete with drink-blurred +eyes. Pete hesitated. He thought of dismounting and going in and +speaking to Flores's wife. But no! It would do neither of them any +good. Flores had intimated that she had gone crazy. And Pete did not +want to talk of Boca--nor hear her name mentioned. "Boca's where she +ain't worryin' about anybody," he reflected as he swung round and rode +out of town. + +Once before he had camped in the same draw, a few miles west of +Showdown, and Blue Smoke seemed to know the place, for he had swung +from the trail of his own accord, striding straight to the water-hole. + +"And if you keep on actin' polite," Pete told the pony as he hobbled +him that evening, "you'll get a good reputation, like Jim Owen said; +which is plumb necessary, if you an' me's goin' to be pals. But if +gettin' a good reputation is goin' to spoil your wind or legs any--why, +jest keep on bein' onnery--which Jim was tellin' me is called +'Character.'" + +As Pete hardened to the saddle and Blue Smoke hardened to the trail, +they traveled faster and farther each day, until, on the Blue Mesa, +where the pony grazed and Pete squatted beside his night-fire in the +open, they were but a half-day's journey from the Concho. Pete almost +regretted that their journey must come to an end. But he could not go +on meandering about the country without a home and without an object in +life: _that_ was pure loafing. + +Pete might have excused himself on the ground that he needed just this +sort of thing after his serious operation; but he was honest with +himself, admitting that he felt fit to tackle almost any kind of hard +work, except perhaps writing letters--for he now thought well enough of +himself to believe that Doris Gray would answer his letter to her from +Sanborn. And of course he would answer her letter--and if he answered +that, she would naturally answer . . . Shucks! Why should she write +to him? All he had ever done for her was to make her a lot of bother +and hard work. And what good was his money to him? He couldn't just +walk into a store and buy an education and have it wrapped up in paper +and take it to her and say, "Here, Miss Gray. I got a education--the +best they had in the outfit. Now if you'll take it as a kind of +present--and me along with it . . ." + +Pete was camping within fifty yards of the spot where old Pop Annersley +had tried to teach him to read and write--it seemed a long time ago, +and Annersley himself seemed more vague in Pete's memory, as he tried +to recall the kindly features and the slow, deliberate movements of the +old man. It irritated Pete that he could not recall old man +Annersley's face distinctly. He could remember his voice, and one or +two characteristic gestures--but his face-- + +Pete stared into the camp-fire, dreaming back along that trail over +which he had struggled and fought and blundered; back to the time when +he was a waif in Enright, his only companion a lean yellow dog . . . +Pete nodded and his eyes closed. He turned lazily and leaned back +against his saddle. + +The mesa, carpeted with sod-grass, gave no warning of the approaching +horseman, who had seen the tiny fire and had ridden toward it. Just +within the circle of firelight he reined in and was about to call out +when that inexplicable sense inherent in animals, the Indian, and in +some cases the white man, brought Pete to his feet. In that same +lightning-swift, lithe movement he struck his gun from the holster and +stood tense as a buck that scents danger on the wind. + +Pete blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Keep your hands right where +they be and step down off that hoss--" + +The rider obeyed. Pete moved from the fire that his own shadow might +not fall upon the other. "Pete!" exclaimed the horseman in a sort of +choking whisper. + +The gun sagged in Peter's hand. "Andy! For God's sake!--I come clost +to killin' you!" And he leaped and caught Andy White's hand, shook it, +flung his arm about his shoulders, stepped back and struck him +playfully on the chest, grabbed him and shook him--and then suddenly he +turned and walked back to the fire and sat down, blinking into the +flames, and trying to swallow nothing, harder than he had ever tried to +swallow anything in his life. + +He heard Andy's step behind him, and heard his own name spoken again. +"It was my fault, Pete. I ought to 'a' hollered. I saw your fire and +rode over--" Andy's hand was on Pete's shoulder, and that shoulder was +shaking queerly. Andy drew back. "There goes that dam' cayuse," cried +Andy. "I'll go catch him up, and let him drag a rope." + +When Andy returned from putting an unnecessary rope on a decidedly +tired horse that was quite willing to stand right where he was, Pete +had pulled himself together and was rolling a cigarette. + +"Well, you ole sun-of-a-gun!" said Pete; "want to swap hats? Say, +how'll you swap?" + +Andy grinned, but his grin faded to a boyish seriousness as he took off +his own Stetson and handed it to Pete, who turned it round and +tentatively poked his fingers through the two holes in the crown. "You +got my ole hat yet, eh? Doggone if it ain't my ole hat. And she's +ventilated some, too. Well, I'm listenin'." + +"And you sure are lookin' fine, Pete. Say, is it you? Or did my hoss +pitch me--and I'm dreamin'--back there on the flat? No. I reckon it's +you all right. I ain't done shakin' yet from the way you come at me +when I rode in. Say, did you git Jim's letter? Why didn't you write +to a guy, and say you was comin'? Reg'lar ole Injun, same as ever. +Quicker 'n a singed bob-cat gittin' off a stove-lid. That Blue Smoke +'way over there? Thought I knowed him. When did they turn you loose +down to El Paso? Ma Bailey was worryin' that they wasn't feedin' you +good. When did you get here? Was you in the gun-fight when The Spider +got bumped off?" + +Pete was still gazing at the little round holes in Andy's hat. "Andy, +did you ever try to ride a hoss down the ole mesa trail backwards?" + +"Why, no, you sufferin' coyote! What you drivin' at?" + +"Here's your hat. Now if you got anything under it, go ahead and talk +up. Which way did you ride when we split, over by the timber there?" + +Andy reached over and put a stick of wood on the fire. "Well, seein' +it's your hat, I reckon you got a right to know how them holes come in +it." And he told Pete of his ride, and how he had misled the posse, +and he spoke jestingly, as though it had been a little thing to do; +hardly worth repeating. Then he told of a ride he had made to Showdown +to let Pete know that Gary would live, and how The Spider had said that +he knew nothing of Pete--had never seen him. And of how Ma Bailey +upheld Pete, despite all local gossip and the lurid newspaper screeds. +And that the boys would be mighty glad to see him again; concluding +with an explanation of his own presence there--that he had been over to +the T-Bar-T to see Houck about some of his stock that had strayed +through some "down-fence"--"She's all fenced now," he explained--and +had run into a bunch of wild turkeys, chased them to a rim-rock and had +managed to shoot one, but had had to climb down a cañon to recover the +bird, which had set him back considerably on his home journey. "And +that there bird is hangin' right on my saddle now!" he concluded. "And +I ain't et since mornin'." + +"Then we eat," asserted Pete. "You go git that turkey, and I'll do the +rest." + +Wild turkey, spitted on a cedar limb and broiled over a wood fire, a +bannock or two with hot coffee in an empty bean-can (Pete insisted on +Andy using the one cup), tastes just a little better than anything else +in the world, especially if one has ridden far in the high country--and +most folk do, before they get the wild turkey. + +It was three o'clock when they turned in, to share Pete's one blanket, +and then Andy was too full of Pete's adventures to sleep, asking an +occasional question which Pete answered, until Andy, suddenly recalling +that Pete had told him The Spider had left him his money, asked Pete if +he had packed all that dough with him, or banked it in El Paso. To +which Pete had replied drowsily, "Sure thing, Miss Gray." Whereupon +Andy straightway decided that he would wait till morning before asking +any further questions of an intimate nature. + +Pete was strangely quiet the next morning, in fact almost taciturn, and +Andy noticed that he went into the saddle a bit stiffly. "That--where +you got hurt botherin' you, Pete?" he asked with real solicitude. + +"Some." And realizing that he had scarcely spoken to his old chum +since they awakened, he asked him many questions about the ranch, and +the boys, as they drifted across the mesa and down the trail that led +to the Concho. + +But it was not the twinge of his old wound that made Pete so silent. +He was suffering a disappointment. He had believed sincerely that what +he had been through, in the past six months especially, had changed +him--that he would have to have a mighty stern cause to pull a gun on a +man again; and at the first hint of danger he had been ready to kill. +He wondered if he would ever lose that hunted feeling that had brought +him to his feet and all but crooked his trigger-finger before he had +actually realized what had startled him. But one thing was +certain--Andy would never know just _how_ close he had come to being +killed; Andy, who had joked lightly about his own ride into the desert +with an angry posse trailing him, as he wore Pete's black Stetson, +"that he might give them a good run for their money," he had laughingly +said. + +"You're jest the same ornery, yella-headed, blue-eyed singin'-bird you +always was," declared Pete as they slithered along down the trail. + +Andy turned in the saddle and grinned at Pete. "Now that you've give +the blessing parson, will you please and go plumb to hell?" + +Pete felt a lot better. + +A loose rock slipped from the edge of the trail, and went bounding down +the steep hillside, crashing through a thicket of aspens and landing +with a dull clunk amid a pile of rock that slid a little, and grumbled +sullenly. Blue Smoke had also slipped as his footing gave way +unexpectedly. Pete felt still better. This was something like it! + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +HOME FOLKS + +Noon found them within sight of the ranch-house. In an hour they were +unsaddling at the corral, having ridden in the back way, at Andy's +suggestion, that they might surprise the folks. But it did not take them +long to discover that there were no folks to surprise. The bunk-house +was open, but the house across from it was locked, and Andy knew +immediately that the Baileys had driven to town, because the pup was +gone, and he always followed the buckboard. + +Pete was not displeased, for he wanted to shave and "slick up a bit" +after his long journey. "They'll see my hoss and know that I'm back," +said Andy, as he filled the kettle on the box-stove in the bunk-house. +"But we can put Blue Smoke in a stall and keep him out of sight till you +walk in right from nowhere. I can see Ma Bailey and Jim and the boys! +'Course Ma's like to be back in time to get supper, so mebby you'll have +to hide out in the barn till you hear the bell." + +"I ain't awful strong on that conquerin' hero stuff, Andy. I jest as +soon set right here--" + +"And spoil the whole darn show! Look here, Pete,--you leave it to me and +if we don't surprise Ma Bailey clean out of her--specs, why, I'll quit +and go to herdin' sheep." + +"A11 right. I'm willin'. Only you might see if you kin git in the back +way and lift a piece of pie, or somethin'." Which Andy managed to do +while Pete shaved himself and put on a clean shirt. + +They sat in the bunk-house doorway chatting about the various happenings +during Pete's absence until they saw the buckboard top the distant edge +of the mesa. Pete immediately secluded himself in the barn, while Andy +hazed Blue Smoke into a box stall and hid Pete's saddle. + +Ma Bailey, alighting from the buckboard, heard Andy's brief explanation +of his absence with indifference most unusual in her, and glanced sharply +at him when he mentioned having shot a wild turkey. + +"I suppose you picked it and cleaned it and got it all ready to roast," +she inquired. "Or have you just been loafing around waiting for me to do +it?" + +"I et it," asserted Andy. + +Ma Bailey glared at him, shook her head, and marched into the house while +Andy helped Bailey put up the horses. + +"Ma's upset about somethin'," explained Bailey. "Seems a letter came for +Pete--" + +"Letter from Pete! Why, he ain't comin' back, is he?" + +"A letter for Pete. Ma says it looks like a lady's writin' on the +envelope. She says she'd like to know what female is writin' to Pete, +and him goodness knows where, and not a word to say whether he's sick or +broke, or anything." + +"I sure would like to see him," said Andy fervently. + +"Well, if somebody's writin' to him here at the Concho, looks like he +might drift in one of these days. I'd sure like to know how the kid's +makin' it." + +And Bailey strode to the house, while Andy led the team to the corral. + +Later Andy appeared in the kitchen and asked Mrs. Bailey if he couldn't +help her set the table, or peel potatoes, or something. Ma Bailey gazed +at him suspiciously over her glasses. "I don't know what's ailin' you, +Andy, but you ain't actin' right. First you tell me that you had to camp +at the Blue last night account o' killin' a turkey. Then you tell me +that you et the whole of it. Was you scared you wouldn't get your share +if you fetched it home? Then you want to help me get supper. You been +up to something! You just keep me plumb wore out worrying about you. +You ought to be ashamed of yourself." + +"For why, Ma? What have I done?" + +"I don't know, but it'll come to the top. There's the boys now--and me +a-standing here-- Run along and set the table if you ain't so full of +whatever is got into you that you can't count straight. Bill won't be in +to-night. Leastwise, Jim don't expect him." And Ma Bailey flapped her +apron at him and shooed him out as though he were a chicken that had +dared to poke its inquisitive neck into the kitchen. + +"Count straight!" chuckled Andy. "Mebby I know more about how many's +here than Ma does." + +Meanwhile Ma Bailey busied herself preparing supper, and it was evident +to the boys in the bunkhouse that Ma had something on her mind from the +sounds which came from the kitchen. Ma scolded the potatoes as she fried +them, rebuked the biscuits because they had browned a little too soon, +censured the stove for its misbehavior in having scorched the biscuits, +accused the wood of being a factor in the conspiracy, reprimanded the +mammoth coffee-pot that threatened to deluge the steak, and finally +chased Andy from the premises when she discovered that he had laid the +table with her best set of dishes. + +"Ma's steamin' about somethin'," remarked Andy as he entered the +bunk-house. + +This information was received with characteristic silence as each and +every cowboy mentally straightened up, vowing silently that he wasn't +goin' to take any chances of Ma b'ilin' over on him. + +The clatter of the pack-horse bell brought the men to their feet and they +filed across to the house, a preternaturally silent aggregation that +confirmed Ma Bailey's suspicion that there was something afoot. + +Andy, loitering behind them, saw Pete coming from the stables, tried to +compose himself, but could not get rid of the boyish grin, which provoked +Ma Bailey to mutter something which sounded like "idiot," to which the +cowboys nodded in cheerful concurrence, without other comment. + +Hank Barley, the silent, was gazing surreptitiously at Ma's face when he +saw her eyes widen, saw her rise, and stand staring at the doorway as +Andy clumped in, followed by Pete. + +Ma Bailey sat down suddenly. + +"It's all right, Ma," laughed Andy, alarmed at the expression on her +face. "It's just Pete." + +"Just Pete!" echoed Ma Bailey faintly. And then, "Goodness alive, child, +where you been?" + +Pete's reply was lost in the shuffle of feet as the men rose and shook +hands with him, asking him a dozen questions in as many seconds, +asserting that he was looking fine, and generally behaving like a crowd +of schoolboys, as they welcomed him to their midst again. + +Pete sat in the absent Bill Haskins's place. And "You must 'a' knowed he +was coming" asserted Avery. "Bill is over to the line shack." + +"I got a _letter_," asserted Ma Bailey mysteriously. + +"And you jest said nothin' and sprung him on us! Well, Ma, you sure +fooled me," said Andy, grinning. + +"You go 'long." Mrs. Bailey smiled at Andy, who had earned her +forgiveness by crediting her--rather wisely--with having originated the +surprise. + +They were chatting and joking when Bill Haskins appeared in the door-way, +his hand wrapped in a handkerchief. + +Ma Bailey glared at him over her spectacles. "Got any stickin'-plaster?" +he asked plaintively, as though he had committed some misdemeanor. She +rose and placed a plate and chair for him as he shook hands with Pete, +led him to the kitchen and inspected and bandaged his hand, which he had +jagged on a wire gate, and finally reinstated him at the table, where he +proved himself quite as efficient as most men are with two hands. "Give +Bill all the coffee he wants and plenty stickin'-plaster, and I reckon he +never would do no work," suggested Hank Barley. + +Bill Haskins grinned good-naturedly. "I see Pete's got back," he +ventured, as a sort of mild intimation that there were other subjects +worth discussing. He accompanied this brilliant observation by a modest +request for another cup of coffee, his fourth. The men rose, leaving +Bill engaged in his favorite indoor pastime, and intimated that Pete +should go with them. But Ma Bailey would not bear of it. Pete was going +to help her with the dishes. Andy could go, however, and Bill Haskins, +as soon as he was convinced that the coffee-pot was empty. Ma Bailey's +chief interest in life at the moment was to get the dishes put away, the +men out of the way, and Pete in the most comfortable rocking-chair in the +room, that she might hear his account of how it all happened. + +And Pete told her--omitting no circumstance, albeit he did not accentuate +that part of his recital having to do with Doris Gray, merely mentioning +her as "that little gray-eyed nurse in El Paso"--and in such an offhand +manner that Ma Bailey began to suspect that Pete was keeping something to +himself. Finally, by a series of cross-questioning, comment, and +sympathetic concurrence, she arrived at the feminine conclusion that the +gray-eyed nurse in El Paso had set her cap for Pete--of course Pete was +innocent of any such adjustment of headgear--to substantiate which she +rose, and, stepping to the bedroom, returned with the letter which had +caused her so much speculation as to who was writing to Pete, and why the +letter had been directed to the Concho. + +Pete glanced at the letter, and thanked Ma Bailey as he tucked it in his +pocket. + +"I don't mind if you open it, Pete," she told him. "Goodness knows how +long it's been laying in the post-office! And it, mebby, is +important--from that doctor, or that lawyer, mebby. Oh, mebby it's from +the bank. Sakes alive! To think of that man leaving you all that money! +Mebby that bank has failed!" + +"Well, I'd be right where I started when I first come +here--broke--lookin' for a job." + +"And the boys'll worry you most to death if you try to read any letters +in the bunk-house to-night. They're waitin' to hear you talk." + +"Guess the letter can wait. I ain't such a fast reader, anyhow." + +"And you're like to lose it, carryin' it round." + +"I--I--reckon I better read it," stammered Pete helplessly. + +He felt somehow that Ma would feel slighted if he didn't. Ma Bailey +watched his face as he read the rather brief note from Doris, thanking +him for his letter to her and congratulating him on the outcome of his +trial, and assuring him of her confidence in his ultimate success in +life. "Little Ruth," wrote Doris, "cried bitterly when I told her that +you had gone and would not come back. She said that when you said +'good-bye' to her you promised to come back--and of course I had to tell +her that you would, just to make her happy. She has lost all interest in +the puzzle game since you left, but that queer watch that you gave her, +that has to be shaken before taken--and then not taken seriously--amuses +her quite a bit. She gets me to wind it up--her fingers are not strong +enough--and then she laughs as the hands race around. When they stop she +puts her finger on the hour and says, 'Pitty soon Pete come back.' +Little Ruth misses you very much." + +Pete folded the letter and put it in his pocket. "From a friend of +mine," he said, flushing slightly. + +Ma Bailey sighed, smiled, and sighed again. "You're just itching to go +see the boys. Well, run along, and tell Jim not to set up all night." Ma +Bailey rose, and stepping to the bedroom returned with some blankets. +"You'll have your old bunk. It's yours just as long as you want to stay, +Pete. And--and I hope that girl in El Paso--is a--a nice--sensible--" + +"Why, Ma! What's the matter?--" as Mrs. Bailey blinked and showed +unmistakable signs of emotion. + +"Nothing, Pete. I reckon your coming back so sudden and all you been +through, and that letter, kind of upset me. D-does she powder her face, +Pete?" + +"Who? You mean Miss Gray? Why, what would she do that for?" + +"Does she wear clothes that--that cost lots of money?" + +"Great snakes, Ma! I dunno. I never seen her except in the hospital, +dressed jest like all the nurses." + +"Is--is she handsome?" + +"Say, Ma, you let me hold them blankets. They're gittin' you all sagged +down. Why, she ain't what I'd say was _handsome_, but she sure got +pretty eyes and hair--and complexion--and the smoothest little hands--and +she's built right neat. She steps easy--like a thoroughbred filly--and +she's plumb sensible, jest like you folks." + +This latter assurance did not seem to comfort Ma Bailey as much as the +implied compliment might intimate. + +"And there's only one other woman I ever saw that made me feel right to +home and kind o' glad to have her round, like her. And she's got gray +eyes and the same kind of hair, and--" + +"Sakes alive, Pete Annersley! Another?" + +"Uh-huh. And I'm kissin' her good-night--right now." And Pete grabbed +the blankets and as much of Ma Bailey as could be included in that large +armful, and kissed her heartily. + +"He's changed," Ma Bailey confided to herself, after Pete had +disappeared. "Actin' like a boy--to cheer me up. But it weren't no boy +that set there readin' that letter. It was a growed man, and no wonder. +Yes, Pete's changed, bless his heart!" + +Ma Bailey did not bless Pete's heart because he had changed, however, nor +because he had suffered, nor yet because he was unconsciously in love +with a little nurse in El Paso, nor yet because he kissed her, but +because she liked him: and because no amount of money or misfortune, +blame or praise, could really change him toward his friends. What Ma +Bailey meant was that he had grown a little more serious, a little more +gentle in his manner of addressing her--aside from saying good-night--and +a little more intense in a quiet way. To sum it all up, Pete had just +begun to think--something that few people do on the verdant side of +forty, and rather dread having to do on the other side of that mile-post. + +A week later, as they sat at table asking one another whether Ma Bailey +had took to makin' pies ag'in jest for practice or for Pete, and plaguing +that good woman considerably with their good-natured banter, it occurred +to Bill Haskins to ask Pete if he were going to become a permanent member +of the family or if he were simply visiting; only Bill said, "Are you +aimin' to throw in with us--or are you goin' to curl your tail and drift, +when the snow flies?" + +"I reckon I'll drift," said Pete. + +This was news. Andy White demurred forcibly. Bailey himself seemed +surprised, and even old Hank Barley, the silent, expressed himself as +mildly astonished. + +"We figured you'd stay till after the round-up, anyhow," said Bailey. + +"Reckon it's too tame for Pete here," growled Andy. + +"That's no fault of yours, Andrew," observed Ma Bailey. + +"You're always peckin' at me," grumbled Andy, who detested being called +"Andrew" quite as much as that robust individual known to his friends as +Bill detests being called "Willie"--and Ma Bailey knew it. + +"So you aim to leave us," said Haskins, quite unaware of Ma Bailey's eye +which glared disapproval of the subject. + +"Pete's going--next Tuesday--and just to set your mind at rest and give +you a chance to eat your supper"--Bill had been doing scarcely anything +else since he sat down--"Pete has a right good reason to go." + +"Kin I have another cup of coffee?" queried Bill. + +"Sakes alive, yes! I reckon that's what's ailing you." + +"I only had three, Ma." + +"Pete is going away _on business_," asserted Ma Bailey. + +"Huh," snorted Andy. + +Bailey glanced at his wife, who telegraphed to him to change the subject. +And that good man, who had been married twenty-five years, changed the +subject immediately. + +But Andy did not let it drop. After supper he cornered Pete in the +bunk-house, and following some wordy fencing, ascertained that Pete was +going to Tucson for the winter to get an education. Pete blushingly +admitted that that was his sole intent, swore Andy to secrecy, and told +him that he had discussed the subject with Ma Bailey, who had advised him +to go. + +"So you're quittin' the game," mourned Andy. + +"Nope, jest beginnin'." + +"Well, you might 'a' said somethin', anyhow." + +Pete put his hand on Andy's shoulder. "I wa'n't sure--till yesterday. I +_was_ goin' to tell _you_, Andy. Shucks! Didn't I tell you about the +money and everything--and you didn't say a word to the boys. I ain't +forgittin'." + +"Oh, I knowed havin' money wouldn't swell you up. It ain't that. Only, +I was wonderin'--" + +"So was I, Andy. And I been wonderin' for quite a spell. Come on out +and let's go set on the corral bars and smoke and--jest smoke." + +But they did more than just smoke. The Arizona stars shot wondrous +shafts of white fire through the nipping air as the chums sensed the +comfortable companionship of horses moving slowly about the corral; and +they heard the far, faint call of the coyote as a drift of wind brought +the keen tang of the distant timberlands. They talked together as only +youth may talk with youth, when Romance lights the trail, when the heart +speaks from itself to heart in sympathy. Yet their chat was not without +humor or they would not have been Pete and Andy. + +"You always was a wise one," asserted Andy; "pickin' out a professional +nurse for _your_ girl ain't a bad idee." + +"I had a whole lot to do with pickin' her out, didn't I?" + +"Well, you can't make me believe that she did the pickin', for you was +tellin' me she had good eyes." + +"I reckon it was the Doc that did the pickin',"' suggested Pete. + +"Well, I suppose the next thing you'll be givin' the preacher a chanct." + +"Nope. Next thing I'll be givin' Miss Gray a chanct to tell me I'm a +doggone idiot--only she don't talk like that." + +"Then it'll be because she don't know you like I do. But you're lucky-- +No tellin'--" Andy climbed down from the bars. + +"No tellin' what?" queried Pete. + +"No tellin' you how much I sure want you to win, pardner--because you +know it." + +Pete leapt from the top rail square on to Andy, who, taken off his guard, +toppled and fell. They rolled over and over, not even trying to miss the +puddle of water beside the drinking-trough. Andy managed to get his free +hand in the mud and thought of feeding some of it to Pete, but Pete was +too quick for him, squirming loose and making for the bunkhouse at top +speed. + +Pete entrenched himself in the far corner of the room where Bill Haskins +was reading a novel,--exceedingly popular, if the debilitated condition +of the pages and covers were any criterion,--when Andy entered, holding +one hand behind him in a suspicious manner. Pete wondered what was +coming when it came. Andy swung his arm and plugged a fair-sized +mud-ball at Pete, which missed him and hit the innocent and unsuspecting +Bill on the ear, and stayed there. Bill Haskins, who was at the moment +helping the hero hold a spirited pair of horses while the heroine climbed +to a seat in the romantic buckboard, promptly pulled on the reins and +shouted "Whoa!" and the debilitated novel came apart in his hands with a +soft, ripping sound. It took Bill several seconds to think of something +to say, and several more to realize just what had happened. He opened +his mouth--but Andy interrupted with "Honest, Bill, I wasn't meanin' to +hit you. I was pluggin' at Pete, there. It was his fault; he went and +hid out behind you. Honest, Bill--wait and I'll help you dig that there +mud out of your ear." + +Bill shook his head and growled as he scraped the mud from his face and +neck. Andy, gravely solicitous, helped to remove the mud and +affectionately wiped his fingers in Bill's hair. + +"Here--what in hell you doin'!" snorted Bill. + +"That's right! I was forgittin'! Honest, Bill!" + +"I'll honest you! I'll give you somethin' to forgit." But Andy did not +wait. + +A little later Bill appeared at the kitchen door and plaintively asked Ma +Bailey if she had any sticking-plaster. + +"Sakes alive! Now what you done to yourself, William?" + +"Nothin' this time, Miss Bailey. I--I done tore a book--and jest want to +fix it." + +When Bill returned to the bunk-house with the "sticking-plaster," Pete +and Andy both said they were sorry for the occurrence, but Bill was +mighty suspicious of their sincerity. They were silent while Bill +laboriously patched up the book and settled himself to take up the reins +where he had dropped them. The heroine had just taken her seat beside +the driver--when-- "It's a darned shame!" said a voice, Pete's voice. + +"It sure is--and Bill jest learnin' to read. He might 'a' spelled out a +whole page afore mornin'." + +"I wa'n't meanin' Bill," asserted Pete. + +"Oh, you won't bother Bill none. He can't hear you. His off ear is full +of mud. Go on and say anything you like about him." + +Bill slowly laid down his book, stepped to his bunk, and drew his +six-shooter from its holster. He marched back to the table and laid the +gun quite handy to him, and resumed his chair. + +Bill Haskins was long-suffering--but both Andy and Pete realized that it +was high time to turn their bright particular talents in some other +direction. So they undressed and turned in. They had been asleep an +hour or two before Bill closed his book regretfully, picked up his gun, +and walked to his bunk. He stood for a moment gazing at Andy, and then +turned to gaze at Pete. Then he shook his head--and a slow smile lighted +his weathered face. For despite defunct mountain lions, bent nails, and +other sundries, Bill Haskins liked Andy and Pete--and he knew if it came +to a test of friendship that either of them would stand by him to the +last dollar, or the last shot even, as he would have gladly done to help +them. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + +THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER + +The first thing Pete did when he arrived in Tucson was to purchase a +suit as near like that which he had seen Andover wear as possible. +Pete's Stetson was discarded for a soft felt of ordinary dimensions. +He bought shoes, socks, and some underwear, which the storekeeper +assured him was the latest thing, but which Pete said "looked more like +chicken-wire than honest-to-Gosh cloth," and fortified by his new and +inconspicuous apparel, he called on the principal of the high school +and told him just why he had come to Tucson. "And I'd sure look queer +settin' in with all the kids," Pete concluded. "If there's any way of +my ketchin' up to my size, why, I reckon I kin pay." + +The principal thought it might be arranged. For instance, he would be +glad to give Pete--he said Mr. Annersley--an introduction to an +instructor, a young Eastern scholar, who could possibly spare three or +four evenings a week for private lessons. Progress would depend +entirely upon Pete's efforts. Many young men had studied that +way--some of them even without instruction. Henry Clay, for instance, +and Lincoln. And was Mr. Annersley thinking of continuing with his +studies and entering college, or did he merely wish to become +conversant with the fundamentals? + +"If I kin git so I can throw and hog-tie some of them fundamentals +without losin' my rope, I reckon I'll be doin' all I set out to do. +No--I guess I'd never make a top-hand, ridin' for you. But my rope is +tied to the horn--and I sure aim to stay with whatever I git my loop +on." + +"I get your drift--and I admire your purpose. Incidentally and +speaking from a distinctly impersonal--er--viewpoint" (no doubt a +high-school principal may speak from a viewpoint, or even sit on one if +he cares to), "your colloquialisms are delightful--and sufficiently +forceful to leave no doubt as to your sincerity of purpose." + +"Meanin' you sabe what I'm gittin' at, eh?" + +The principal nodded and smiled. + +"I thought that was what you was tryin' to say. Well, professor--" + +"Dr. Wheeler, if you please." + +"All right, Doc. But I didn't know you was a doc too." + +"Doctor of letters, merely." + +Pete suspected that he was being joked with, but the principal's manner +was quite serious. "If you will give me your address, I will drop a +line to Mr. Forbes," said the principal. + +Pete gave his name and address. As Principal Wheeler wrote them down +in his notebook he glanced up at Pete curiously. "You don't happen to +be the young man--er--similarity of names--who was mixed up in that +shooting affair in El Paso? Name seemed familiar. No doubt a +coincidence." + +"It wa'n't no coincidence--it was a forty-five," stated Pete. + +The principal stared at Pete as though he half-expected to see him pull +a gun and demand an education instanter. But Pete's smile helped the +principal to pull himself together. "Most extraordinary!" he +exclaimed. "I believe the courts exonerated you?" + +"That ain't all they did to me," Pete assured him. "Nope. You got +that wrong. But I reckon they would 'a' done it--if I hadn't 'a' hired +that there lawyer from El Paso. He sure exonerated a couple o' +thousand out o' me. And the judge turned me loose." + +"Most extraordinary!" + +"It was that lawyer that told me I ought to git a education," exclaimed +Pete. + +"Of course! Of course! I had forgotten it for the moment. Well, here +is Mr. Forbes's address. I think you will find him at his room almost +any evening." + +"I'll be there!" + +"Very good! I suppose you are aware that it is illegal to carry +concealed weapons inside the city limits?" + +"I get you, Doc, but I ain't packin' a gun, nohow." + +As the weeks went by and the winter sun swung farther south, Mr. +Forbes, the young Eastern scholar, and Pete began to understand each +other. Pete, who had at first considered the young Easterner affected, +and rather effeminate, slowly realized that he was mistaken. Forbes +was a sincere and manly fellow, who had taken his share of hard knocks +and who suffered ill health uncomplainingly--an exile of his chosen +environment, with little money and scarce a companion to share his +loneliness. + +As for Forbes, he envied Pete his abundant health and vigor and admired +his unspoiled enthusiasm. Pete's humor, which somehow suggested to +Forbes the startling and inexplicable antics of a healthy colt, melted +Forbes's diffidence, and they became friends and finally chums. Pete +really learned as much through this intimacy as he did from his books: +perhaps more. It was at Pete's suggestion that Forbes took to riding a +horse, and they spent many afternoons on the desert, drifting slowly +along while they discussed different phases of life. + +These discussions frequently led to argument, sincere on Pete's part, +who never realized that Forbes's chief delight in life was to get Pete +started, that he might enjoy Pete's picturesque illustration of the +point, which, more often than not, was shrewdly sharp and convincing. +No amount of argument, no matter how fortified by theory and example, +could make Pete change his attitude toward life; but he eventually came +to see life from a different angle, his vision broadening to a wider +perspective as they climbed together, Forbes loitering on familiar +ground that Pete might not lose the trail and find himself entangled in +some unessential thicket by the way. + + +Forbes was not looking well. His thin face was pinched; his eyes were +listless. Pete thought that Forbes stayed indoors too much. "Why +don't you go get a cayuse and ride?" he suggested. + +"Never was on a horse in my life." + +"Uh-huh. Well, you been off one too long." + +"I'd like to. But I can't afford it." + +"I don't mean to buy a horse--jest hire one, from the livery. I was +thinkin' of gettin' out on the dry-spot myself. I'm plumb sick of +town." + +"You would have to teach me." + +"Shucks! There's nothin' to learn. All you got to do is to fork your +cayuse and ride. I'd sure be glad to go with you." + +"That's nice of you. Well, say to-morrow afternoon, then. But what +about horses?" + +"We got a session to-morrow. What's the matter with this afternoon? +The sun's shinin', and there ain't much wind, and I can smell the ole +desert, a-sizzlin'. Come on!" + +They were in Forbes's room. The Easterner laid his book aside and +glanced down at his shoes. "I haven't a riding-costume." + +"Well, you can get one for a dollar and four-bits--copper-riveted, and +sure easy and comfortable. I'll lend you a pair of boots." + +"All right. I'll try it once, at least." + +Forbes felt rather conspicuous in the stiff new overalls, rolled up at +the bottom, over Pete's tight high-heeled boots, but nobody paid any +attention to him as he stumped along beside Pete, on the way to the +livery. + +Pete chose the horses, and a saddle for Forbes, to whom he gave a few +brief pointers anent the art of swinging up and dismounting. They set +out and headed for the open. Forbes was at first nervous; but as +nothing happened, he forgot his nervousness and gave himself to gazing +at the great sun-swept spaces until the horses broke into a trot, when +he turned his entire attention to the saddle-horn, clinging to it +affectionately with his free hand. + +Pete pulled up. "Say, amigo, it's ag'inst the rules to choke that +there horn to death. Jest let go and clamp your knees. We'll lope 'em +a spell." + +Forbes was about to protest when Pete's horse, to which he had +apparently done nothing, broke into a lope. Forbes's horse followed. +It was a rough experience for the Easterner, but he enjoyed it until +Pete pulled up suddenly. Forbes's own animal stopped abruptly, but +Forbes, grabbing wildly at the horn, continued, and descended in a +graceful curve which left him sitting on the sand and blinking up at +the astonished animal. + +"Hurt you?" queried Pete. + +"I think not-- But it was rather sudden. Now what do I do?" + +"Well, when you git rested up, I'd say to fork him ag'in. He's sure +tame." + +"I--I thought he was rather wild," stammered Forbes, getting to his +feet. + +"Nope. It was you was wild. I reckon you like to scared him to death. +Nope! Git on him from this side." + +"He seems a rather intelligent animal," commented Forbes as he prepared +for the worst. + +"Well, we kin call him that, seein' there's nobody round to hear us. +We'll walk 'em a spell." + +Forbes felt relieved. And realizing that he was still alive and +uninjured, he relaxed a bit. After they had turned and headed for +town, he actually enjoyed himself. + +Next day he was so stiff and sore that he could scarcely walk, but his +eye was brighter. However, he begged off from their proposed ride the +following afternoon. Pete said nothing; but when the next riding +afternoon arrived, a week later, Forbes was surprised to see Pete, +dressed in his range clothes. Standing near the curb were two horses, +saddled and bridled. "Git on your jeans and those ole boots of mine. +I fetched along a extra pair of spurs." + +"But, Annersley--" + +"I can't ride 'em both." + +"It's nice of you--but really, I can't afford it." + +"Look here, Doc, what you can't afford is to set in that room a-readin' +all day. And the horse don't cost you a cent. I had a talk with the +old-timer that runs the livery, and when he seen I was onto my job, he +was plumb tickled to death for me to exercise the horses. One of 'em +needs a little educatin'." + +"That's all right. But how about my horse?" + +"Why, I brought him along to keep the other horse company. I can't +handle 'em both. Ain't you goin' to help me out?" + +"Well, if you put it that way, I will this time." + +"Now you're talkin' sense." + +Several weeks later they were again riding out on the desert and +enjoying that refreshing and restful companionship which is best +expressed in silence, when Pete, who had been gazing into the distance, +pulled up his restive horse and sat watching a moving something that +suddenly disappeared. Forbes glanced at Pete, who turned and nodded as +if acknowledging the other's unspoken question. They rode on. + +A half-hour later, as they pulled up at the edge of the arroyo, Forbes +was startled by Pete's "Hello, neighbor!" to an apparently empty world. + +"What's the joke?" queried Forbes. + +The joke appeared suddenly around the bend in the arroyo--a big, +weather-bitten joke astride of a powerful horse. Forbes uttered an +exclamation as the joke whipped out a gun and told them to "Put 'em +up!" in a tone which caused Forbes's hands to let go the reins and rise +head-high without his having realized that he had made a movement. +Pete was also picking invisible peaches from the air, which further +confirmed Forbes's hasty conclusion that they were both doing the right +thing. + +"_I ain't got a gun on me, Ed._" Pete had spoken slowly and +distinctly, and apparently without the least shadow of trepidation. +Forbes, gazing at the grim, bronzed face of the strange horseman, +nervously echoed Pete's statement. Before the Easterner could realize +what had actually happened, Pete and the strange rider had dismounted +and were shaking hands: a transition so astonishing that Forbes forgot +to lower his hands and sat with them nervously aloft as though +imploring the Rain-God not to forget his duty to mankind. + +Pete and the stranger were talking. Forbes could catch an occasional +word, such as "The Spider--El +Paso--White-Eye--Hospital--Sonora--Sanborn--Sam Brent--" + +Pete turned and grinned. "I reckon you can let go the--your holt, Doc. +This here is a friend of mine." + +Forbes sighed thankfully. He was introduced to the friend, whom Pete +called Ed, but whose name had been suddenly changed to Bill. "We used +to ride together," explained Pete. + +Forbes tactfully withdrew, realizing that whatever they had to talk +about was more or less confidential. + +Presently Pete approached Forbes and asked him if he had any money with +him. Forbes had five dollars and some small change. "I'm borrowin' +this till to-morrow," said Pete, as he dug into his own pocket, and +without counting the sum total, gave it to the stranger. + +Brevoort stuffed the money in his pocket and swung to his horse. "You +better ride in with us a ways," suggested Pete. "The young fella don't +know anything about you--and he won't talk if I pass the word to him. +Then I kin go on ahead and fetch back some grub and some more dineros." + +Forbes found the stranger rather interesting as they rode back toward +Tucson; for he spoke of Mexico and affairs below the line--amazing +things to speak of in such an offhand manner--in an impersonal and +interesting way. + +Within two miles of the town they drew up. "Bill, here," explained +Pete, "is short of grub. Now, if you don't mind keepin' him company, +why, I'll fan it in and git some. I'll be back right soon." + +"Not at all! Go ahead!" Forbes wanted to hear more of first-hand +experiences south of the line. Forbes, who knew something of Pete's +history, shrewdly suspected that the stranger called "Bill" had a good +reason to ride wide of Tucson--although the Easterner did not quite +understand why Pete should ride into town alone. But that was merely +incidental. + +It was not until Pete had returned and the stranger had departed, +taking his way east across the desert, that Pete offered an +explanation--a rather guarded explanation, Forbes realized--of the +recent happenings. "Bill's keepin' out on the desert for his health," +said Pete. "And, if anybody should ask us, I reckon we ain't seen him." + +"I think I understand," said Forbes. + +And Forbes, recalling the event many months later, after Pete had left +Tucson, thought none the less of Pete for having helped an old friend +out of difficulties. Forbes was himself more than grateful to +Pete--for with the riding three times a week and Pete's robust +companionship, he had regained his health to an extent far beyond his +hopes. + +Pete rejected sixteen of the seventeen plans he had made that winter +for his future, often guided by what he read in the occasional letters +from Doris, wherein he found some rather practical suggestions--for he +wrote frankly of his intent to better himself, but wisely refrained +from saying anything that might be interpreted as more than friendship. + + +Pete had not planned to go to El Paso quite as soon as he did; and it +was because of an unanswered letter that he went. He had written early +in March and it was now May--and no reply. + +If he had waited a few days longer, it is possible that he would not +have gone at all, for passing him as he journeyed toward Texas was a +letter from Doris Gray in which she intimated that she thought their +correspondence had better cease, and for the reason--which she did not +intimate--that she was a bit afraid that Pete would come to El Paso, +and stay in El Paso until she had either refused to see him--it was +significant that she thought of refusing to see him, for he was +actually worth looking at--or until he had asked her a question to +which there was but one answer, and that was "no." Just why Doris +should have taken it for granted that he would ask her that question is +a matter which she never explained, even to herself. Pete had never +made love to her in the accepted sense of the term. He had done much +better than that, although he was entirely unconscious of it. But that +psychological moment--whatever that may mean--in the affairs of Doris +and Pete was rapidly approaching,--a moment more often anticipated by +the female of the species than by the male. + +Just what kept Pete from immediately rushing to the hospital and +proclaiming his presence is another question that never can be +answered. Pete wanted to do just that thing--but he did not. Instead, +he took a modest room at a modest hotel, bought himself some +presentable clothing, dropped in to see Hodges of the Stockmen's +Security, and spent several days walking about the streets mentally +preparing himself to explain just why he _had_ come to El Paso, finally +arriving at the conclusion that he had come to see little Ruth. Doris +had said that Ruth had missed him. Well, he had a right to drop in and +see the kid. And he reckoned it was nobody's business if he did. + +He had avoided going near the General Hospital in his strolls about +town, viewing that building from a safe distance and imagining all +sorts of things. Perhaps Miss Gray had left. Perhaps she was ill. Or +she might have married! Still, she would have told him, he thought. + +Doris never knew what a struggle it cost Pete--to say nothing of hard +cash--to purchase that bottle of perfume. But he did it, marching into +a drug-store and asking for a bottle of "the best they had," and paying +for it without a quiver. Back in his room he emptied about half of the +bottle on his handkerchief, wedged the handkerchief into his pocket, +and marched to the street, determination in his eye, and the fumes of +half a vial of Frangipanni floating in his wake. + +Perhaps the Frangipanni stimulated him. Perhaps the overdose deadened +his decision to stay away from the hospital. In any event, that +afternoon he betook himself to the hospital, and was fortunate in +finding Andover there, to whom he confided the obvious news that he was +in town--and that he would like to see little Ruth for a minute, if it +was all right. + +Andover told him that little Ruth had been taken to her home a month +ago--and Pete wondered how she could still miss him, as Miss Gray had +intimated in her last letter. And as he wondered he saw light--not a +great light, but a faint ray which was reflected in his face as he +asked Andover when Miss Gray would be relieved from duty, and if it +would be possible to see her then. + +Andover thought it might be possible, and suggested that he let Miss +Gray know of Pete's presence; but some happy instinct caused Pete to +veto that suggestion. + +"It ain't important," he told Andover. "I'll jest mosey around about +six, and step in for a minute. Don't you say I'm in town!" + +Andover gazed curiously after Pete as the latter marched out. The +surgeon shook his head. Mixed drinks were not new to Andover, but he +could not for the life of him recognize what Pete had been drinking. + +Doris, who had not been thinking of Pete at all,--as she was not a +spiritualist, and had always doubted that affinities were other than +easy excuses for uneasy morals,--came briskly down the hospital steps, +gowned in a trim gray skirt and a jacket, and a jaunty turban that hid +just enough of her brown hair to make that which was visible the more +alluring. She almost walked into Pete--for, as it has been stated, she +was not thinking of him at all, but of the cozy evening she would spend +with her sister at the latter's apartments on High Street. +Incidentally Doris was thinking, just a little, of how well her gown +and turban became her, for she had determined never to let herself +become frowsy and slipshod--Well--she had not to look far for her +antithesis. + +"Why, Mr. Annersley!" + +Pete flushed, the victim of several emotions. "Good-evenin', Miss +Gray. I--I thought I'd jest step in and say 'Hello' to that little +kid." + +"Oh! Ruth?" And Doris flushed just the least bit herself. "Why, +little Ruth is not here now." + +"Shucks! Well, I'm right glad you are! Was you goin' somewhere?" + +"Yes. Out to my sister's on High Street." + +"I only been in town two or three days, so I don't know jest where High +Street is, but I reckon I could find my way back all right." And Pete +so far forgot the perfume as to smile in his old, boyish way. + +Doris did some rapid mental calculation and concluded that her +latest--or rather her last--letter had just about arrived in Tucson, +and of course Pete had not read it. That made matters a little +difficult. But there was no reason in the world why he should not walk +with her to her sister's. + +Pete saw no reason why he should not, either, but rather a very +attractive reason why he should. + +Without further word they turned and walked down the street, Doris +wondering what in the world had induced Pete to immerse himself in +Frangipanni, and Pete wondering if there was ever a prettier girl in +the world than Doris Gray. + +And because Pete wanted to talk about something entirely impersonal, he +at once began to ask her what she thought of his latest plan, which was +to purchase an interest in the Concho, spend his summers working with +the men and his winters in Tucson, studying with Forbes about whom he +had written to her. + +Doris thought it was a splendid plan. She was sure--quite +impersonally--that he would make a success of anything he attempted. + +Pete was not so sure, and he told her so. She joked him for doubting +himself. He promptly told her that he didn't doubt himself for a +minute, but that he did doubt the willingness of the person whom he +hoped to make a partner in the venture. + +"Not Mr. Forbes?" she queried, glancing quickly at Pete's serious face. + +"Nope. It's you." + +They walked another block without speaking; then they walked still +another. And they had begun to walk still another when Pete suddenly +pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in the gutter. +"That doggone perfume is chokin' me to death!" he blurted. And Doris, +despite herself, smiled. + +They were out where the streets were more open and quiet now. The sun +was close to the edge of the desert, far in the west. Doris's hand +trembled just the least bit as she turned to say "good-night." They +had stopped in front of a house, near the edge of town. Pete's face +was a bit pale; his dark eyes were intense and gloomy. + +Quite unconscious of what he was doing, he pulled out his watch--a new +watch that possessed no erratic tendencies. Suddenly Doris thought of +Pete's old watch, and of little Ruth's extreme delight in its +irresponsible hands whirling madly around, and of that night when Pete +had been brought to the hospital. Suddenly there were two tears +trembling on her lashes, and her hand faltered. Then, being a sensible +person, she laughed away her emotion, for the time being, and invited +Pete in to supper. + +Pete thought Doris's sister a mighty nice girl, plumb sensible and not +a bit stuck up. And later, when this "plumb sensible" person declared +that she was rather tired and excused herself and disappeared, after +bidding Pete good-night, he knew that she was a sensible person. He +couldn't see how she could help it, being the sister of Doris. + +"So I'll be sayin' good-night," stated Pete a few minutes later, as he +stood by the door, proud and straight and as vital as a flame. + +But he didn't say it, at least coherently. Doris's hand was on his +sleeve. Pete thought she had a mighty pretty hand. And as for her +eyes--they were gray and misty and warm . . . and not at all like he +had ever seen them before. He laughed happily, "You look plumb +lonesome!" he said. + +"I--I was." + +Pete dropped his hat, but he did not know it until, well--several +minutes later, when Doris gave it to him. + + +It was close to midnight when a solitary policeman, passing down a side +street, heard a nocturnal singer inform dark and empty High Street that +he was + + "The Ridin' Kid from Powder River,"-- + +with other more or less interesting details. + +Pete felt a hand on his shoulder. "You better cut that out!" said the +officer. + +Pete whirled and his hand flickered toward his hip. "You go plumb +to--" Pete hesitated. The officer sniffed suspiciously. Pete +grinned--then proffered his hand with irresistible enthusiasm. + +"Sure I'll cut it out." + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +The Riverside Press + +Cambridge, Massachusetts + +U.S.A. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ridin' Kid from Powder River +by Henry Herbert Knibbs + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER *** + +***** This file should be named 16530-8.txt or 16530-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/3/16530/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +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. diff --git a/16530-8.zip b/16530-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..87f04e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/16530-8.zip diff --git a/16530-h.zip b/16530-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5d5579 --- /dev/null +++ b/16530-h.zip diff --git a/16530-h/16530-h.htm b/16530-h/16530-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e839223 --- /dev/null +++ b/16530-h/16530-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21500 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Ridin' Kid from Powder River +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; background: White; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%; font-size: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; margin-left: 10%; font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small } + + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Ridin' Kid from Powder River, by Henry Herbert Knibbs + +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: The Ridin' Kid from Powder River + +Author: Henry Herbert Knibbs + +Illustrator: Stanley L. Wood and R. M. Brinkerhoff + +Release Date: August 14, 2005 [EBook #16530] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="Frontispiece" BORDER="2" WIDTH="360" HEIGHT="616"> +<H5> +[Frontispiece: The Ridin' Kid] +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE RIDIN' KID<BR>FROM POWDER RIVER +</H1> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>By</I> +</H4> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +BOSTON AND NEW YORK. +</H4> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +1919 +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS +<BR><BR> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<CENTER> + +<TABLE WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">YOUNG PETE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">A WARNING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">JUSTICE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">A CHANGE OF BASE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">NEW VISTAS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">PLANS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">SOME BOOKKEEPING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">ROWDY—AND BLUE SMOKE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">"TURN HIM LOOSE!"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">POP ANNERSLEY'S BOY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">IN THE PIT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">GAME</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">THE KITTY-CAT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">FOUR MEN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">THE OPEN HOLSTER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">A FALSE TRAIL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">THE BLACK SOMBRERO</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">THE SPIDER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">BULL MALVEY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">BOCA DULZURA</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">"A DRESS—OR A RING—PERHAPS"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">THE DEVIL-WIND</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">"A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">"PLANTED—OUT THERE"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">THE OLLA</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap27">OVER THE LINE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap28">A GAMBLE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap29">QUERY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap30">BRENT'S MISTAKE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap31">FUGITIVE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap32">EL PASO</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap33">THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap34">DORIS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap35">"CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap36">WHITE-EYE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap37">"CLOSE THE CASES"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap38">GETTING ACQUAINTED</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap39">A PUZZLE GAME</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XL. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap40">THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap41">"A LAND FAMILIAR"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap42">"OH, SAY TWO THOUSAND"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap43">A NEW HAT—A NEW TRAIL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap44">THE OLD TRAIL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap45">HOME FOLKS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XLVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap46">THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +THE RIDIN' KID . . . . <I>Colored Frontispiece</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Drawn by Stanley L. Wood</I> +</H4> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-032"> +"SAY, AIN'T WE PARDNERS?" +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-090"> +PETE +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-150"> +COTTON HEARD PETE'S HAND STRIKE THE BUTT OF HIS GUN + AS THE HOLSTER TILTED UP +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-228"> +"OF A TRUTH, NO!" SAID BOCA, AND SHE SWUNG THE BOTTLE +</A> +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Drawn by R. M. Brinkerhoff</I> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +The Ridin' Kid from Powder River +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +YOUNG PETE +</H3> + +<P> +With the inevitable pinto or calico horse in his string the +horse-trader drifted toward the distant town of Concho, accompanied by +a lazy cloud of dust, a slat-ribbed dog, and a knock-kneed foal that +insisted on getting in the way of the wagon team. Strung out behind +this indolently moving aggregation of desert adventurers plodded an +indifferent lot of cayuses, their heads lowered and their eyes filled +with dust. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete, perched on a saddle much too large for him, hazed the tired +horses with a professional "Hi! Yah! Git in there, you doggone, +onnery, three-legged pole-cat you!" A gratuitous command, for the +three-legged pole-cat referred to had no other ambition than to shuffle +wearily along behind the wagon in the hope that somewhere ahead was +good grazing, water, and chance shade. +</P> + +<P> +The trader was lean, rat-eyed, and of a vicious temper. Comparatively, +the worst horse in his string was a gentleman. Horse-trading and +whiskey go arm-in-arm, accompanied by their copartners, profanity and +tobacco-chewing. In the right hand of the horse-trader is guile and in +his left hand is trickery. And this squalid, slovenly-booted, and +sombrero'd gentleman of the outlands lived down to and even beneath all +the vicarious traditions of his kind, a pariah of the waste places, +tolerated in the environs of this or that desert town chiefly because +of Young Pete, who was popular, despite the fact that he bartered +profanely for chuck at the stores, picketed the horses in pasturage +already preempted by the natives, watered the horses where water was +scarce and for local consumption only, and lied eloquently as to the +qualities of his master's caviayard when a trade was in progress. For +these manful services Young Pete received scant rations and much abuse. +</P> + +<P> +Pete had been picked up in the town of Enright, where no one seemed to +have a definite record of his immediate ancestry. He was quite willing +to go with the trader, his only stipulation being that he be allowed to +bring along his dog, another denizen of Enright whose ancestry was as +vague as were his chances of getting a square meal a day. Yet the dog, +despite lean rations, suffered less than Young Pete, for the dog +trusted no man. Consequently he was just out of reach when the trader +wanted to kick something. Young Pete was not always so fortunate. But +he was not altogether unhappy. He had responsibilities, especially +when the trader was drunk and the horses needed attention. Pete +learned much profanity without realizing its significance. He also +learned to chew tobacco and realized its immediate significance. He +mastered the art, however, and became in his own estimation a man +grown—a twelve-year-old man who could swear, chew, and show horses to +advantage when the trader could not, because the horses were not afraid +of Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +When Pete got kicked or cuffed he cursed the trader heartily. Once, +after a brutal beating, Young Pete backed to the wagon, pulled the +rifle from beneath the seat, and threatened to kill the trader. After +that the rifle was never left loaded. In his tough little heart Pete +hated his master, but he liked the life, which offered much variety and +promised no little romance of a kind. +</P> + +<P> +Pete had barely existed for twelve years. When the trader came along +with his wagon and ponies and cajoled Pete into going with him, Pete +gladly turned his face toward wider horizons and the great adventure. +Yet for him the great adventure was not to end in the trading of horses +and drifting from town to town all his life. +</P> + +<P> +Old man Annersley held down a quarter-section on the Blue Mesa chiefly +because he liked the country. Incidently he gleaned a living by hard +work and thrift. His homestead embraced the only water for miles in +any direction, water that the upland cattlemen had used from time +immemorial. When Annersley fenced this water he did a most natural and +necessary thing. He had gathered together a few head of cattle, some +chickens, two fairly respectable horses, and enough timber to build a +comfortable cabin. He lived alone, a gentle old hermit whose hand was +clean to every man, and whose heart was tender to all living things +despite many hard years in desert and range among men who dispensed +such law as there was with a quick forefinger and an uncompromising +eye. His gray hairs were honorable in that he had known no wastrel +years. Nature had shaped him to a great, rugged being fitted for the +simplicity of mountain life and toil. He had no argument with God and +no petty dispute with man. What he found to do he did heartily. The +horse-trader, camped near Concho, came to realize this. +</P> + +<P> +Old man Annersley was in need of a horse. One of his team had died +that winter. So he unhooked the pole from the buckboard, rigged a pair +of shafts, and drove to Concho, where he heard of the trader and +finally located that worthy drinking at Tony's Place. Young Pete, as +usual, was in camp looking after the stock. The trader accompanied +Annersley to the camp. Young Pete, sniffing a customer, was +immediately up and doing. Annersley inspected the horses and finally +chose a horse which Young Pete roped with much swagger and unnecessary +language, for the horse was gentle, and quite familiar with Young +Pete's professional vocabulary. +</P> + +<P> +"This here animal is sound, safe, and a child could ride him," asserted +Young Pete as he led the languid and underfed pony to the wagon. "He's +got good action." Pete climbed to the wagon-wheel and mounted +bareback. "He don't pitch, bite, kick, or balk." The horse, used to +being shown, loped a few yards, turned and trotted back. "He +neck-reins like a cow-hoss," said Pete, "and he can turn in a ten-cent +piece. You can rope from him and he'll hold anything you git your rope +on." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon he would," said Annersley, and his eyes twinkled. "'Specially +a hitchin'-rail. Git your rope on a hitchin'-rail and I reckon that +hitchin'-rail would never git away from him." +</P> + +<P> +"He's broke right," reasserted Young Pete. "He's none of your ornery, +half-broke cayuses. You ought to seen him when he was a colt! Say, 't +wa'n't no time afore he could outwork and outrun any hoss in our bunch." +</P> + +<P> +"How old be you?" queried Annersley. +</P> + +<P> +"Twelve, goin' on thirteen." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. And the hoss?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he's got a little age on him, but that don't hurt him none." +</P> + +<P> +Annersley's beard twitched. "He must 'a' been a colt for quite a +spell. But I ain't lookin' for a cow-hoss. What I want is a hoss that +I can work. How does he go in harness?" +</P> + +<P> +"Harness! Say, mister, this here hoss can pull the kingpin out of a +wagon without sweatin' a hair. Hook him onto a plough and he sure can +make the ole plough smoke." +</P> + +<P> +Annersley shook his head. "That's a mite too fast for me, son. I'd +hate to have to stop at the end of every furrow and pour water on that +there plough-point to keep her cool." +</P> + +<P> +"'Course if you're lookin' for a <I>cheap</I> hoss," said Young Pete, +nothing abashed, "why, we got 'em. But I was showin' you the best in +the string." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know that I want him. What you say he was worth?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's worth a hundred, to any man. But we're sellin' him cheap, for +cash—forty dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty," said the trader, "and if he ain't worth fifty, he ain't worth +puttin' a halter on. Fifty is givin' him to you." +</P> + +<P> +"So? Then I reckon I don't want him. I wa'n't lookin' for a present. +I was lookin' to buy a hoss." +</P> + +<P> +The trader saw a real customer slipping through his fingers. "You can +put a halter on him for forty—cash." +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. Your pardner here said forty,"—and Annersley smiled at Young +Pete. "I'll look him over ag'in for thirty." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete knew that they needed money badly, a fact that the trader +was apt to ignore when he was drinking. "You said I could sell him for +forty, or mebby less, for cash," complained Young Pete, slipping from +the pony and tying him to the wagon-wheel. +</P> + +<P> +"You go lay down!" growled the trader, and he launched a kick that +jolted Pete into the smouldering camp-fire. Pete was used to being +kicked, but not before an audience. Moreover, the hot ashes had burned +his hands. Pete's dog, hitherto asleep beneath the wagon, rose +bristling, anxious to defend his young master, but afraid of the +trader. The cowering dog and the cringing boy told Annersley much. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete, brushing the ashes from his over-alls, rose and shaking +with rage, pointed a trembling finger at the trader. "You're a doggone +liar! You're a doggone coward! You're a doggone thief!" +</P> + +<P> +"Just a minute, friend," said Annersley as the trader started toward +the boy. "I reckon the boy is right—but we was talkin' hosses. I'll +give you just forty dollars for the hoss—and the boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Make it fifty and you can take 'em. The kid is no good, anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +This was too much for Young Pete. He could stand abuse and scant +rations, but to be classed as "no good," when he had worked so hard and +lied so eloquently, hurt more than mere kick or blow. His face +quivered and he bit his lip. Old man Annersley slowly drew a wallet +from his overalls and counted out forty dollars. "That hoss ain't +sound," he remarked and he recounted the money. He's got a couple of +wind-puffs, and he's old. He needs feedin' and restin' up. That boy +your boy?" +</P> + +<P> +"That kid! Huh! I picked him up when he was starvin' to death over to +Enright. I been feedin' him and his no-account dog for a year, and +neither of 'em is worth what he eats." +</P> + +<P> +"So? Then I reckon you won't be missin' him none if I take him along +up to my place." +</P> + +<P> +The horse-trader did not want to lose Young Pete, but he did want +Annersley's money. "I'll leave it to him," he said, flattering himself +that Pete dare not leave him. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you say, son?"—and old man Annersley turned to Pete. "Would +you like to go along up with me and help me to run my place? I'm kind +o' lonesome up there, and I was thinkin' o' gettin' a pardner." +</P> + +<P> +"Where do you live?" queried Pete, quickly drying his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, up in those hills, which don't no way smell of liquor and are +tellin' the truth from sunup to sunup. Like to come along and give me +a hand with my stock?" +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I would!" +</P> + +<P> +"Here's your money," said Annersley, and he gave the trader forty +dollars. "Git right in that buckboard, son." +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on!" exclaimed the trader. "The kid stays here. I said fifty +for the outfit." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin'," asserted Young Pete. "I'm sick o' gettin' kicked and +cussed every time I come near him. He licked me with a rawhide last +week." +</P> + +<P> +"He did, eh? For why?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause he was drunk—that's why!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I reckon you come with me. Such as him ain't fit to raise young +'uns." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete was enjoying himself. This was indeed revenge—to hear some +one tell the trader what he was, and without the fear of a beating. +"I'll go with you," said Pete. "Wait till I git my blanket." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you touch nothin' in that wagon!" stormed the trader. +</P> + +<P> +"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley. +</P> + +<P> +The horse-trader was deceived by Annersley's mild manner. As Young +Pete started toward the wagon, the trader jumped and grabbed him. The +boy flung up his arms to protect his face. Old man Annersley said +nothing, but with ponderous ease he strode forward, seized the trader +from behind, and shook that loose-mouthed individual till his teeth +rattled and the horizon line grew dim. +</P> + +<P> +"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley, as he swung the trader round, +deposited him face down in the sand, and sat on him. "I'm waitin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to kill him?" queried Young Pete, his black eyes snapping. +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks, no!" +</P> + +<P> +"Kin I kick him—jest onct, while you hold him down?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, son. That's too much like his way. You run along and git your +blanket if you're goin' with me." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete scrambled to the wagon and returned with a tattered blanket, +his sole possession, and his because he had stolen it from a Mexican +camp near Enright. He scurried to the buckboard and hopped in. +</P> + +<P> +Annersley rose and brought the trader up with him as though the latter +were a bit of limp tie-rope. +</P> + +<P> +"And now we'll be driftin'," he told the other. +</P> + +<P> +Murder burned in the horse-trader's narrow eyes, but immediate physical +ambition was lacking. +</P> + +<P> +Annersley bulked big. The horse-trader cursed the old man in two +languages. Annersley climbed into the buckboard, gave Pete the +lead-rope of the recent purchase, and clucked to his horse, paying no +attention whatever to the volley of invectives behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll git his gun and shoot you in the back," whispered Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, son. He'll jest go and git another drink and tell everybody in +Concho how he's goin' to kill me—some day. I've handled folks like +him frequent." +</P> + +<P> +"You sure kin fight!" exclaimed Young Pete enthusiastically. +</P> + +<P> +"Never hit a man in my life. I never dast to," said Annersley. +</P> + +<P> +"You jest set on 'em, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jest set on 'em," said Annersley. "You keep tight holt to that rope. +That fool hoss acts like he wanted to go back to your camp." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete braced his feet and clung to the rope, admonishing the horse +with outland eloquence. As they crossed the arroyo, the led horse +pulled back, all but unseating Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, you!" cried the boy. "You quit that—afore my new pop takes you +by the neck and the—pants and sits on you!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the idea, son. Only next time, jest tell him without cussin'." +</P> + +<P> +"He always cusses the hosses," said Young Pete. "Everybody cusses 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"'Most everybody. But a man what cusses a hoss is only cussin' +hisself. You're some young to git that—but mebby you'll recollect I +said so, some day." +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't you cuss him when you set on him?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"For why, son?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wa'n't you mad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks, no." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you ever cuss?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not frequent, son. Cussin' never pitched any hay for me." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete was a bit disappointed. "Didn't you never cuss in your +life?" +</P> + +<P> +Annersley glanced down at the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if you promise you won't tell nobody, I did cuss onct, when I +struck the plough into a yellow-jacket's nest which I wa'n't aimin' to +hit, nohow. Had the reins round my neck, not expectin' visitors, when +them hornets come at me and the hoss without even ringin' the bell. +That team drug me quite a spell afore I got loose. When I got enough +dirt out of my mouth so as I could holler, I set to and said what I +thought." +</P> + +<P> +"Cussed the hosses and the doggone ole plough and them hornets—and +everything!" exclaimed Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, son, I cussed myself for hangin' them reins round my neck. What +you say your name was?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pete." +</P> + +<P> +"What was the trader callin' you—any other name besides Pete?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I reckon he was. When he is good 'n' drunk he would be callin' +me a doggone little—" +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind, I know about that. I was meanin' your other name." +</P> + +<P> +"My other name? I ain't got none. I'm Pete." +</P> + +<P> +Annersley shook his head. "Well, pardner, you'll be Pete Annersley +now. Watch out that hoss don't jerk you out o' your jacket. This here +hill is a enterprisin' hill and leads right up to my place. Hang on! +As I was sayin', we're pardners, you and me. We're goin' up to my +place on the Blue and tend to the critters and git washed up and have +supper, and mebby after supper we'll mosey around so you kin git +acquainted with the ranch. Where'd you say your pop come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno. He ain't my real pop." +</P> + +<P> +Annersley turned and looked down at the lean, bright little face. "You +hungry, son?" +</P> + +<P> +"You bet!" +</P> + +<P> +"What you say if we kill a chicken for supper—and celebrate." +</P> + +<P> +"G'wan, you're joshin' me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. I like chicken. And I got one that needs killin'; a no-account +ole hen what won't set and won't lay." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we'll ring her doggone head off, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Somethin' like that—only I ain't jest hatin' that there hen. She +ain't no good, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete pondered, watching Annersley's grave, bearded face. +Suddenly he brightened. "I know! Nobody kin tell when you're joshin' +'em, 'cause your whiskers hides it. Guess I'll grow some whiskers and +then I kin fool everybody." +</P> + +<P> +Old man Annersley chuckled, and spoke to the horses. Young Pete, +happier than he had ever been, wondered if this good luck would +last—if it were real, or just a dream that would vanish, leaving him +shivering in his tattered blanket, and the horse-trader telling him to +get up and rustle wood for the morning fire. +</P> + +<P> +The buckboard topped the rise and leveled to the tree-girdled mesa. +Young Pete stared. This was the most beautiful spot he had ever seen. +Ringed round by a great forest of spruce, the Blue Mesa lay shimmering +in the sunset like an emerald lake, beneath a cloudless sky tinged with +crimson, gold, and amethyst. Across the mesa stood a cabin, the only +dwelling in that silent expanse. And this was to be his home, and the +big man beside him, gently urging the horse, was his partner. He had +said so. Surely the great adventure had begun. +</P> + +<P> +Annersley glanced down. Young Pete's hand was clutched in the old +man's coat-sleeve, but the boy was gazing ahead, his bright black eyes +filled with the wonder of new fortunes and a real home. Annersley +blinked and spoke sharply to the horse, although that good animal +needed no urging as he plodded sturdily toward the cabin. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES +</H3> + +<P> +For a few days the old man had his hands full. Young Pete, used to +thinking and acting for himself, possessed that most valuable but often +dangerous asset, initiative. The very evening that he arrived at the +homestead, while Annersley was milking the one tame cow out in the +corral, Young Pete decided that he would help matters along by catching +the hen which Annersley had pointed out to him when he drove into the +yard. Milking did not interest Young Pete; but chasing chickens did. +</P> + +<P> +The hen, a slate-colored and maternal-appearing biddy, seemed to +realize that something unusual was afoot. She refused to be driven +into the coop, perversely diving about the yard and circling the +out-buildings until even Young Pete's ambition flagged. Out of breath +he marched to the house. Annersley's rifle stood in the corner. Young +Pete eyed it longingly, finally picked it up and stole gingerly to the +doorway. The slate-colored hen had cooled down and was at the moment +contemplating the cabin with head sideways, exceedingly suspicious and +ruffled, but standing still. Just as Young Pete drew a bead on her, +the big red rooster came running to assure her that all was well—that +he would protect her; that her trepidation was unfounded. He blustered +and strutted, declaring himself Lord High Protector of the hen-yard and +just about the handsomest thing in feathers—<I>Bloom</I>! Young Pete +blinked, and rubbed his shoulder. The slate-colored hen sprinted for +parts unknown. The big red rooster flopped once or twice and then gave +up the ghost. He had strutted across the firing line just as Young +Pete pulled the trigger. The cow jumped and kicked over the milk-pail. +Old Annersley came running. But Young Pete, the lust of the chase +spurring him on, had disappeared around the corner of the cabin after +the hen. He routed her out from behind the haystack, herded her +swiftly across the clearing to the lean-to stable, and corralled her, +so to speak, in a manger. Just as Annersley caught up with him, Pete +leveled and fired—at close range. What was left of the hen—which was +chiefly feathers, he gathered up and held by the remaining leg. "I got +her!" he panted. +</P> + +<P> +Annersley paused to catch his breath. "Yes—you got her. +Gosh-A'mighty, son—I thought you had started in to clean out the +ranch! You downed my rooster and you like to plugged me an' that +heifer there. The bullit come singin' along and plunked into the +rain-bar'l and most scared me to death. What in the ole scratch +started you on the war-path, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete realized that he had overdone the matter slightly. "Why, +nothin'—only you said we was to eat that hen for supper, an' I +couldn't catch the dog-gone ole squawker, so I jest set to and plugged +her. This here gun of yourn kicks somethin' fierce!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I reckon you was meanin' all right. But Gosh-A'mighty! You +might 'a' killed the cow or me or somethin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I got her, anyhow. I got her plumb center." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—you sure did." And the old man took the remains of the hen from +Pete and "hefted" those remains with a critical finger and thumb. "One +laig left, and a piece of the breast." He sighed heavily. Young Pete +stared up at him, expecting praise for his marksmanship and energy. +The old man put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "It's all right this +time, son. I reckon you wasn't meanin' to murder that rooster. I only +got one, and—" +</P> + +<P> +"He jest run right in front of the hen when I cut loose. He might 'a' +knowed better." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll go see." And Annersley plodded to the yard, picked up the +defunct rooster and entered the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete cooled down to a realization that his new pop was not +altogether pleased. He followed Annersley, who told him to put the gun +back in the corner. +</P> + +<P> +"Got to clean her first," asserted Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"You look out you don't shoot yourself," said Annersley from the +kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh," came from the ambitious, young hunter of feathered game, "I know +all about guns—and this here ole musket sure needs cleanin' bad. She +liked to kicked my doggone head off." +</P> + +<P> +They ate what was left of the hen, and a portion of the rooster. After +supper Annersley sat outside with the boy and talked to him kindly. +Slowly it dawned upon Young Pete that it was not considered good form +in the best families of Arizona to slay law-abiding roosters without +explicit directions and permission from their owners. The old man +concluded with a promise that if Young Pete liked to shoot, he should +some day have a gun of his own if he, in turn, would agree to do no +shooting without permission. The promise of a real gun of his own +touched Young Pete's tough little heart. He stuck out his hand. The +compact was sealed. +</P> + +<P> +"Git a thirty-thirty," he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know about thirty-thirties?" +</P> + +<P> +"Huh, I know lots. My other pop was tellin' me you could git a man +with a thirty a whole heap farther than you could with any ole +forty-four or them guns. I shot heaps of rabbits with his." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we'll see. But you want to git over the idee of gettin' a man +with any gun. That goes with horse-tradin' and liquor and such. But +we sure aim to live peaceful, up here." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, Young Pete, squatting beside Annersley, amused himself by +spitting tobacco juice at a procession of red ants that trailed from +nowhere in particular toward the doorstep. +</P> + +<P> +"Makes 'em sick," he chuckled as a lucky shot dissipated the procession. +</P> + +<P> +"It's sure wastin' cartridges on mighty small game," remarked Annersley. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't cost nothin' to spit on 'em," said Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Not now. But when you git out of chewin'-tobacco, then where you +goin' to git some more?" +</P> + +<P> +"To the store, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. But where you goin' to git the money?" +</P> + +<P> +"He was givin' me all the chewin' I wanted," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. Well, I ain't got no money for chewin'-tobacco. But I tell +you what, Pete. Now, say I was to give you a dollar a week for—for +your wages. And say I was to git you one of them guns like you said; +you couldn't shoot chewin'-tobacco in that gun, could you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Most anybody knows that!" laughed Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"But you could buy cartridges with that dollar—an' shoot lots." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you lick me if I bought chewin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks, no! I was jest leavin' it to you." +</P> + +<P> +"When do I git that dollar—the first one?" +</P> + +<P> +Annersley smiled to himself. Pete was shrewd and in no way inclined to +commit himself carelessly. Horse-trading had sharpened his wits to a +razor-edge and dire necessity and hunger had kept those wits keen. +Annersley was amused and at the same time wise enough in his patient, +slow way to hide his amusement and talk with Pete as man to man. "Why, +you ain't been workin' for me a week yet! And come to think—that +rooster was worth five dollars—every cent! What you say if I was to +charge that rooster up to you? Then after five weeks you was to git a +dollar, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete pondered this problem. "Huh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You et +more 'n half that rooster—and some of the hen." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, son. Then say I was to charge you two dollars for what you +et?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then, I guess beans is good enough for me. Anyhow, I never stole your +rooster. I jest shot him." +</P> + +<P> +"Which is correct. Reckon we'll forgit about that rooster and start +fresh." The old man fumbled in his pocket and brought up a silver +dollar. "Here's your first week's wages, son. What you aim to do with +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Buy cartridges!" exclaimed Pete. "But I ain't got no gun." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we'll be goin' to town right soon. I'll git you a gun, and +mebby a scabbard so you can carry it on the saddle." +</P> + +<P> +"Kin I ride that hoss I seen out there?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"What about ridin' the hoss you sold me? From what you said, I reckon +they ain't no hoss can touch him, in this country." +</P> + +<P> +Pete hesitated on the thin edge of committing himself, tottered and +almost fell, but managed to retain his balance. "Sure, he's a good +hoss! Got a little age on him, but that don't hurt none. I was +thinkin' mebby you'd like that other cayuse of yours broke right. +Looks to me like he needs some handlin' to make a first-class +saddle-hoss." +</P> + +<P> +The old man smiled broadly. Pete, like a hungry mosquito, was hard to +catch. +</P> + +<P> +"You kin ride him," said Annersley. "'Course, if he pitches you—" +And the old man chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +"Pitch me? Say, pardner, I'm a ridin' son-of-a-gun from Powder River +and my middle name is 'stick.' I kin ride 'm comin' and goin'—crawl +'m on the run and bust 'm wide open every time they bit the dirt. Turn +me loose and hear me howl. Jest give me room and see me split the air! +You want to climb the fence when I 'm a-comin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you git that little song?" queried Annersley. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—why, that's how the fellas shoot her over to the round-up at +Magdalena and Flag. Reckon I been there!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, don't you bust ole Apache too hard, son. He's a mighty +forgivin' hoss—but he's got feelin's." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh! You're a-joshin' me agin. I seen your whiskers kind o' wiggle. +You think I'm scared o' that hoss?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just a leetle mite, son. Or you wouldn't 'a' sung that there +high-chin song. There's some good riders that talk lots. But the best +riders I ever seen, jest rode 'em—and said nothin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Like when you set on my other pop, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the idee." +</P> + +<P> +Pete, used to a rough-and-tumble existence, was deeply impressed by the +old man's quiet outlook and gentle manner. While not altogether in +accord with Annersley's attitude in regard to profanity and chewing +tobacco—still, Young Pete felt that a man who could down the +horse-trader and sit on him and suffer no harm was somehow worth +listening to. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A WARNING +</H3> + +<P> +That first and unforgettable year on the homestead was the happiest +year of Pete's life. Intensely active, tireless, and resourceful—as +are most youngsters raised in the West—he learned to milk the tame +cow, manipulate the hay-rake, distinguish potato-vines from weeds and +hoe accordingly, and through observation and Annersley's thrifty +example, take care of his clothing and few effects. The old man taught +Pete to read and to write his own name—a painful process, for Young +Pete cared nothing for that sort of education and suffered only that he +might please his venerable partner. When it came to the plaiting of +rawhide into bridle-reins and reatas, the handling of a rope, packing +for a hunting trip, reading a dim trail when tracking a stray horse, or +any of the many things essential to life in the hills, Young Pete took +hold with boyish enthusiasm, copying Annersley's methods to the letter. +Pete was repaid a thousand-fold for his efforts by the old man's +occasional: +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't 'a' done it any better myself, pardner." +</P> + +<P> +For Annersley seldom called the boy "Pete" now, realizing that +"pardner" meant so much more to him. +</P> + +<P> +Pete had his rifle—an old carbine, much scratched and battered by the +brush and rock—a thirty-thirty the old man had purchased from a cowboy +in Concho. +</P> + +<P> +Pete spent most of his spare time cleaning and polishing the gun. He +had a fondness for firearms that almost amounted to a passion. +Evenings, when the work was done and Annersley sat smoking in the +doorway, Young Pete invariably found excuse to clean and oil his gun. +He invested heavily in cartridges and immediately used up his +ammunition on every available target until there was not an unpunctured +tin can on the premises. He was quick and accurate, finally scorning +to shoot at a stationary mark and often riding miles to get to the +valley level where there were rabbits and "Jacks," that he occasionally +bowled over on the run. Once he shot a coyote, and his cup of +happiness brimmed—for the time being. +</P> + +<P> +All told, it was a most healthful and happy life for a boy, and Young +Pete learned, unconsciously, to "ride, shoot, and Tell the Truth," as +against "Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic," for which he cared nothing. +Pete might have gone far—become a well-to-do cattleman or rancher—had +not Fate, which can so easily wipe out all plans and precautions in a +flash, stepped in and laid a hand on his bridle-rein. +</P> + +<P> +That summer occasional riders stopped at the cabin, were fed and housed +and went on their way. They came chiefly from the T-Bar-T ranch—some +few from Concho, a cattle outfit of the lower country. Pete +intuitively disliked these men, despite the fact that they rode +excellent horses, sported gay trappings, and "joshed" with him as +though he were one of themselves. His instinct told him that they were +not altogether friendly to Annersley. They frequently drifted into +warm argument as to water-rights and nesters in general—matters that +did not interest Young Pete at the time, who failed, naturally, to +grasp the ultimate meaning of the talk. But the old man never seemed +perturbed by these arguments, declining, in his good-natured way, to +take them seriously, and feeling secure in his own rights, as a +hard-working citizen, to hold and cultivate the allotment he had earned +from the Government. +</P> + +<P> +The T-Bar-T outfit especially grudged him the water that they had +previously used to such good advantage. This water was now under +fence. To make this water available to cattle would disrupt the +homestead. It was at this time that Young Pete first realized the +significance of these hard-riding visitors. He was cleaning his +much-polished carbine, sitting cross-legged round the corner of the +cabin, when two of the chance visitors, having washed and discarded +their chaps, strolled out and squatted by the doorway. Old man +Annersley was at the back of the cabin preparing supper. +</P> + +<P> +One of the riders, a man named Gary, said something to his companion +about "running the old man out of the country." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete paused in his task. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't bluff him so easy," offered the companion. +</P> + +<P> +"But a thirty-thirty kin talk business," said the man Gary, and he +laughed. +</P> + +<P> +Pete never forgot the remark nor the laugh. Next day, after the riders +had departed, he told his pop what he had heard. The old man made him +repeat the conversation. He shook his head. "Mostly talk," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"They dassent to start runnin' <I>us</I> off—dast they?" queried Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Mostly talk," reiterated Annersley; but Pete saw that his pop was +troubled. +</P> + +<P> +"They can't bluff us, eh, pop?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon not, son. How many cartridges you got?" +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete thrilled to the question. "Got ten out of the last box. +You got any?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some. Reckon we'll go to town to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"To git some cartridges?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby." +</P> + +<P> +This was Young Pete's first real intimation that there might be trouble +that would occasion the use of cartridges. The idea did not displease +him. They drove to town, bought some provisions and ammunition, and +incidentally the old man visited the sheriff and retailed the +conversation that Pete had overheard. +</P> + +<P> +"Bluff!" said the sheriff, whose office depended upon the vote of the +cattlemen. "Just bluff, Annersley. You hang on to what you got and +they won't be no trouble. I know just how far those boys will go." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't," said Annersley. "So I was jest puttin' what you call +bluff on record, case anything happened." +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff, secretly in league with the cattlemen to crowd Annersley +off the range, took occasion to suggest to the T-Bar-T foreman that the +old man was getting cold feet—which was a mistake, for Annersley had +simply wished to keep within the law and avoid trouble if possible. +Thus it happened that Annersley brought upon himself the very trouble +that he had honorably tried to avoid. Let the most courageous man even +seem to turn and run and how soon his enemies will take up the chase! +</P> + +<P> +But nothing happened that summer, and it was not until the following +spring that the T-Bar-T outfit gave any hint of their real intent. The +anonymous letter was a vile screed—because it was anonymous and also +because it threatened, in innuendo, to burn out a homestead held by one +man and a boy. +</P> + +<P> +Annersley showed the letter to Pete and helped him spell it out. Then +he explained gravely his own status as a homesteader, the law which +allowed him to fence the water, and the labor which had made the land +his. It was typical of Young Pete that when a real hazard threatened +he never said much. In this instance the boy did not know just what to +do. That evening Annersley missed him and called, "What you doin', +pardner?" +</P> + +<P> +From the cabin—Annersley, as usual, was seated outside, smoking—came +the reply: "Countin' my cartridges." +</P> + +<P> +Annersley knew that the anonymous letter would be followed by some +hostile act if he did not vacate the homestead. He wasted no time +worrying as to what might happen—but he did worry about Young Pete. +If the cattlemen raided his place, it would be impossible to keep that +young and ambitious fire-eater out of harm's way. So the old man +planned to take Pete to Concho the next morning and leave him with the +storekeeper until the difficulty should be solved, one way or the other. +</P> + +<P> +This time they did not drive to Concho, but saddled up and rode down +the hill trail. And during the journey Young Pete was unusually +silent, wondering just what his pop planned to do. +</P> + +<P> +At the store Annersley privately explained the situation to the +storekeeper. Then he told Young Pete that he would leave him there for +a few days as he was "goin' over north a spell." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete studied the old man with bright, blinking eyes that +questioned the truth of this statement. His pop had never lied to him, +and although Pete suspected what was in the wind, he had no ground for +argument. Annersley was a trifle surprised that the boy consented to +stay without demur. Annersley might have known that Young Pete's very +silence was significant; but the old man was troubled and only too glad +to find his young partner so amenable to his suggestion. When +Annersley left the store Young Pete's "So-long, pop," was as casual as +sunshine, but his tough little heart was thumping with restrained +excitement. He knew that his pop feared trouble and wished to face it +alone. +</P> + +<P> +Pete allowed a reasonable length of time to elapse and then approached +the storekeeper. "Gimme a box of thirty-thirties," he said, fishing up +some silver from his overall pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"Where'd you get all that money, Pete?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I done stuck up the fo'man of the T-Bar-T on pay-day and made him +shell out," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The storekeeper grinned. "Here you be. Goin' huntin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. Huntin' snakes." +</P> + +<P> +"Honest, now! Where'd you git the change?" +</P> + +<P> +"My wages!" said Young Pete proudly. "Pop is givin' me a dollar a week +for helpin' him. We're pardners." +</P> + +<P> +"Your pop is right good to you, ain't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"You bet! And he can lick any ole bunch of cow-chasers in this +country. Somebody's goin' to git hurt if they monkey with him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Where 'd you get the idea anybody was going to monkey with your dad?" +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete felt that he had been incautious. He refused to talk +further, despite the storekeeper's friendly questioning. Instead, the +boy roamed about the store, inspecting and commenting upon saddlery, +guns, canned goods, ready-made clothing, and showcase trinkets, his +ears alert for every word exchanged by the storekeeper and a chance +customer. Presently two cowboys clumped in, joshed with the +store-keeper, bought tobacco and ammunition—a most usual procedure, +and clumped out again. Young Pete strolled to the door and watched +them enter the adobe saloon across the way—Tony's Place—the +rendezvous of the riders of the high mesas. Again a group of cowboys +arrived, jesting and roughing their mounts. They entered the store, +bought ammunition, and drifted to the saloon. It was far from pay-day, +as Pete knew. It was also the busy season. There was some ulterior +reason for so many riders assembling in town. Pete decided to find out +just what they were up to. +</P> + +<P> +After supper he meandered across to the saloon, passed around it, and +hid in an empty barrel near the rear door. He was uncomfortable, but +not unhappy. He listened for a chance word that might explain the +presence of so many cowboys in town that day. Frequently he heard +Gary's name mentioned. He had not seen Gary with the others. But the +talk was casual, and he learned nothing until some one remarked that it +was about time to drift along. They left in a body, taking the mesa +trail that led to the Blue. This was significant. They usually left +in groups of two or three, as their individual pleasure dictated. And +there was a business-like alertness about their movements that did not +escape Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The Arizona stars were clear and keen when he crept round to the front +of the saloon and pattered across the road to the store. The +storekeeper was closing for the night. Young Pete, restlessly anxious +to follow the T-Bar-T men, invented an excuse to leave the storekeeper, +who suggested that they go to bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Got to see if my hoss is all right," said Pete. "The ole fool's like +to git tangled up in that there drag-rope I done left on him. Reckon +I'll take it off." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, your dad was tellin' me you was a reg'lar buckaroo. Thought you +knew better than to leave a rope on a hoss when he's in a corral." +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot," invented Pete. "Won't take a minute." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll wait for you. Run along while I get my lantern." +</P> + +<P> +The storekeeper's house was but a few doors down the street, which, +however, meant quite a distance, as Concho straggled over considerable +territory. He lighted the lantern and sat down on the steps waiting +for the boy. From the corral back of the store came the sound of +trampling hoofs and an occasional word from Young Pete, who seemed to +be a long time at the simple task of untying a drag-rope. The +store-keeper grew suspicious and finally strode back to the corral. +His first intimation of Pete's real intent was a glimpse of the boy +astride the big bay and blinking in the rays of the lantern. +</P> + +<P> +"What you up to?" queried the storekeeper. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete's reply was to dig his heels into the horse's ribs. The +storekeeper caught hold of the bridle. "You git down and come home +with me. Where you goin' anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Take your hand off that bridle," blustered Young Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The trader had to laugh. "Got spunk, ain't you? Now you git down and +come along with me, Pete. No use you riding back to the mesa to-night. +Your dad ain't there. You can't find him to-night." +</P> + +<P> +Pete's lip quivered. What right had the store-keeper, or any man, to +take hold of his bridle? +</P> + +<P> +"See here, Pete, where do you think you're goin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Home!" shrilled Pete as he swung his hat and fanned the horse's ears. +It had been many years since that pony had had his ears fanned, but he +remembered early days and rose to the occasion, leaving the storekeeper +in the dust and Young Pete riding for dear life to stay in the saddle. +Pete's hat was lost in the excitement, and next to his rifle, the old +sombrero inherited from his pop was Pete's dearest possession. But +even when the pony had ceased to pitch, Pete dared not go back for it. +He would not risk being caught a second time. +</P> + +<P> +He jogged along up the mesa trail, peering ahead in the dusk, +half-frightened and half-elated. If the T-Bar-T outfit were going to +run his pop out of the country, Young Pete intended to be in at the +running. The feel of the carbine beneath his leg gave him courage. Up +to the time Annersley had adopted him, Pete had had to fight and scheme +and dodge his way through life. He had asked no favors and expected +none. His pop had stood by him in his own deepest trouble, and he +would now stand by his pop. That he was doing anything especially +worthy did not occur to him. Partners always "stuck." +</P> + +<P> +The horse, anxious to be home, took the long grade quickly, restrained +by Pete, who felt that it would be poor policy to tread too closely +upon the heels of the T-Bar-T men. That they intended mischief was now +only too evident. And Pete would have been disappointed had they not. +Although sophisticated beyond his years and used to the hazards of a +rough life, <I>this</I> adventure thrilled him. Perhaps the men would set +fire to the outbuildings and the haystack, or even try to burn the +cabin. But they would have a sorry time getting to the cabin if his +pop were really there. +</P> + +<P> +Up the dim, starlit trail he plodded, shivering and yet elate. As he +topped the rise he thought he could see the vague outlines of horses +and men, but he was not certain. That soft glow against the distant +timber was real enough, however! There was no mistaking that! The log +stable was on fire! +</P> + +<P> +The horse fought the bit as Young Pete reined him into the timber. +</P> + +<P> +Pete could see no men against the glow of the burning building, but he +knew that they were there somewhere, bushed in the brush and waiting. +Within a few hundred yards of the cabin he was startled by the flat +crack of a rifle. He felt frightened and the blood sang in his ears. +But he could not turn back now! His pop might be besieged in the +cabin, alone and fighting a cowardly bunch of cow-punchers who dare not +face him in the open day. But what if his pop were not there? The +thought struck him cold. What would he do if he made a run for the +cabin and found it locked and no one there? All at once Pete realized +that it was <I>his</I> home and <I>his</I> stock and hay that were in danger. +Was he not a partner in pop's homestead? Then a thin red flash from +the cabin window told him that Annersley was there. Following the +flash came the rip and roar of the old rifle. Concealed in the timber, +Pete could see the flames licking up the stable. Presently a long +tongue of yellow shot up the haystack. "The doggone snakes done fired +our hay!" he cried, and his voice caught in a sob. This was too much. +Hay was a precious commodity in the high country. Pete yanked out his +carbine, loosed a shot at nothing in particular, and rode for the cabin +on the run. "We're coming pop," he yelled, followed by his shrill +"Yip! Yip! We're all here!" +</P> + +<P> +Several of the outlying cow-punchers saw the big bay rear and stop at +the cabin as Young Pete flung out of the saddle and pounded on the +door. "It's me, pop! It's Pete! Lemme in!" +</P> + +<P> +Annersley's heart sank. Why had the boy come? How did he know? How +had he managed to get away? +</P> + +<P> +He flung open the door and dragged Pete in. +</P> + +<P> +"What you doin' here?" he challenged. +</P> + +<P> +"I done lost my hat," gasped Pete. "I—I was lookin' for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Your hat? You gone loco? Git in there and lay down!" And though it +was dark in the cabin Young Pete knew that his pop had gestured toward +the bed. Annersley had never spoken in that tone before, and Young +Pete resented it. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was easily led, but mighty hard to drive. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' doin'!" said Pete. "You can't boss me 'round like that! You +said we was pardners, and that we was both boss. I knowed they was +comin' and I fanned it up here to tell you. I reckon we kin lick the +hull of 'em. I got plenty cartridges." +</P> + +<P> +Despite the danger, old man Annersley smiled as he choked back a word +of appreciation for Pete's stubborn loyalty and grit. When he spoke +again Pete at once caught the change in tone. +</P> + +<P> +"You keep away from the window," said Annersley. "Them coyotes out +there 'most like aim to rush me when the blaze dies down. Reckon +they'll risk settin' fire to the cabin. I don't want to kill +nobody—but—you keep back—and if they git me, you stay right still in +here. They won't hurt you." +</P> + +<P> +"Not if I git a bead on any of 'em!" said Young Pete, taking courage +from his pop's presence. "Did you shoot any of 'em yet, pop?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon not. I cut loose onct or twict, to scare 'em off. You keep +away from the window." +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete had crept to the window and was gazing out at the sinking +flames. "Say, ain't we pardners?" he queried irritably. "You said we +was when you brung me up here. And pardners stick, don't they? I +reckon if it was my shack that was gittin' rushed, you 'd stick, and +not go bellyin' under the bunk and hidin' like a dog-gone prairie-dog." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-032"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-032.jpg" ALT=""Say, ain't we pardners?"" BORDER="2" WIDTH="350" HEIGHT="626"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "Say, ain't we pardners?"] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"That's all right," said Annersley. "But there's no use takin' +chances. You keep back till we find out what they're goin' to do next." +</P> + +<P> +Standing in the middle of the room, well back from the southern window, +the old man gazed out upon the destruction of his buildings and +carefully hoarded hay. He breathed hard. The riders knew that he was +in the cabin—that they had not bluffed him from the homestead. +Probably they would next try to fire the cabin itself. They could +crawl up to it in the dark and set fire to the place before he was +aware of it. Well, they would pay high before they got him. He had +fed and housed these very men—and now they were trying to run him out +of the country because he had fenced a water-hole which he had every +right to fence. He had toiled to make a home for himself, and the boy, +he thought, as he heard Young Pete padding about the cabin. The +cattlemen had written a threatening letter hinting of this, yet they +had not dared to meet him in the open and have it out face to face. He +did not want to kill, yet such men were no better than wolves. And as +wolves he thought of them, as he determined to defend his home. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete, spider-like in his quick movements, scurried about the +cabin making his own plan of battle. It did not occur to him that he +might get hurt—or that his pop would get hurt. They were safe enough +behind the thick logs. All he thought of was the chance of a shot at +what he considered legitimate game. While drifting about the country +he had heard many tales of gunmen and border raids, and it was quite +evident, even to his young mind, that the man who suffered attack by a +gun was justified in returning the compliment in kind. And to this end +he carefully arranged his cartridges on the floor, knelt and raised the +window a few inches and cocked the old carbine. Annersley realized +what the boy was up to and stepped forward to pull him away from the +window. And in that brief moment Young Pete's career was +shaped—shaped beyond all question or argument by the wanton bullet +that sung across the open, cut a clean hole in the window, and dropped +Annersley in his tracks. +</P> + +<P> +The distant, flat report of the shot broke the silence, fired more in +the hope of intimidating Annersley than anything else, yet the man who +had fired it must have known that there was but one place in the brush +from where the window could be seen—and to that extent the shot was +premeditated, with the possibility of its killing some one in the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete heard his pop gasp and saw him stagger in the dim light. In +a flash Pete was at his side. "You hit, pop?" he quavered. There came +no reply. Annersley had died instantly. Pete fumbled at his chest in +the dark, called to him, tried to shake him, and then, realizing what +had happened threw himself on the floor beside Annersley and sobbed +hopelessly. Again a bullet whipped across the clearing. Glass tinkled +on the cabin floor. Pete cowered and hid his face in his arms. +Suddenly a shrill yell ripped the silence. The men were rushing the +cabin! Young Pete's fighting blood swelled his pulse. He and pop had +been partners. And partners always "stuck." Pete crept cautiously to +the window. Halfway across the clearing the blurred hulk of running +horses loomed in the starlight. Young Pete rested his carbine on the +window-sill and centered on the bulk. He fired and thought he saw a +horse rear. Again he fired. This was much easier than shooting deer. +He beard a cry and the drumming of hoofs. Something crashed against +the door. Pete whirled and fired point-blank. Before he knew what had +happened men were in the cabin. Some one struck a match. Young Pete +cowered in a corner, all the fight oozing out of him as the lamp was +lighted and he saw several men masked with bandannas. "The old man's +done for," said one of them, stooping to look at Annersley. Another +picked up the two empty shells from Annersley's rifle. "Where's the +kid?" asked another. "Here, in the corner," said a cowboy. "Must 'a' +been him that got Wright and Bradley. The old man only cut loose +twict—afore the kid come. Look at this!" And dragging Young Pete to +his feet, the cowboy took the carbine from him and pointed to the three +thirty-thirty shells on the cabin floor. +</P> + +<P> +The men were silent. Presently one of them laughed. Despite Pete's +terror, he recognized that laugh. He knew that the man was Gary, he +who had once spoken of running Annersley out of the country. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a dam' bad business," said one of the men. "The kid knows too +much. He'll talk." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you keep your mouth shut, if we don't kill you?" queried Gary. +</P> + +<P> +"Cut that out!" growled another. "The kid's got sand. He downed two +of us—and we take our medicine. I'm for fannin' it." +</P> + +<P> +Pete, stiff with fear, saw them turn and clump from the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +As they left he heard one say something which he never forgot. "Must +'a' been Gary's shot that downed the o1e man. Gary knowed the layout +and where he could get a line on the window." +</P> + +<P> +Pete dropped to the floor and crawled over to Annersley. "Pop!" he +called again and again. Presently he realized that the kindly old man +who had made a home for him, and who had been more like a real father +than his earlier experiences had ever allowed him to imagine, would +never again answer. In the yellow haze of the lamp, Young Pete rose +and dragging a blanket from the bed, covered the still form and the +upturned face, half in reverence for the dead and half in fear that +those dead lips might open and speak. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JUSTICE +</H3> + +<P> +Dawn bared the smouldering evidence of that dastardly attack. The +stable and the lean-to, where Annersley had stored his buckboard and a +few farm implements when winter came, the corral fence, the haystack, +were feathery ashes, which the wind stirred occasionally as a raw red +sun shoved up from behind the eastern hills. The chicken-coop, near +the cabin, had not been touched by the fire. Young Pete, who had +fallen asleep through sheer exhaustion, was awakened by the cackling of +the hens. He jumped up. It was time to let those chickens out. +Strange that his pop had not called him! He rubbed his eyes, started +suddenly as he realized that he was dressed—and then he +remembered… +</P> + +<P> +He trembled, fearful of what he would see when he stepped into the +other room. "Pop!" he whispered. The hens cackled loudly. From +somewhere in the far blue came the faint whistle of a hawk. A board +creaked under his foot and he all but cried out. He stole to the +window, scrambled over the sill, and dropped to the ground. Through +habit he let the chickens out. They rushed from the coop and spread +over the yard, scratching and clucking happily. Pete was surprised +that the chickens should go about their business so casually. They did +not seem to care that his pop had been killed. +</P> + +<P> +He was back to the cabin before he realized what he was doing. From +the doorway he saw that still form shrouded in the familiar old gray +blanket. Something urged him to lift a corner of the blanket and +look—something stronger held him back. He tip-toed to the kitchen and +began building a fire. "Pop would be gettin' breakfast," he whispered. +Pete fried bacon and made coffee. He ate hurriedly, occasionally +turning his head to glance at that still figure beneath the blanket. +Then he washed the dishes and put them carefully away, as his pop would +have done. That helped to occupy his mind, but his most difficult task +was still before him. He dared not stay in the cabin—and yet he felt +that he was a coward if he should leave. Paradoxically he reasoned +that if his pop were alive, he would know what to do. Pete knew of +only one thing to do—and that was to go to Concho and tell the sheriff +what had happened. Trying his best to ignore the gray blanket, he +picked up all the cartridges he could find, and the two rifles, and +backed from the room. He felt ashamed of the fear that drove him from +the cabin. He did not want his pop to think that he was a coward. +Partners always "stuck," and yet he was running away. "Good-bye, pop," +he quavered. He choked and sobbed, but no tears came. He turned and +went to look for the horses. +</P> + +<P> +Then he remembered that the corral fence was burned, that there had +been no horses there when he went to let the chickens out. He followed +horse-tracks to the edge of the timber and then turned back. The +horses had been stampeded by the flames and the shooting. Pete knew +that they might be miles from the cabin. He cut across the mesa to the +trail and trudged down toward Concho. His eyes burned and his throat +ached. The rifles grew heavy, but he would not leave them. It was +significant that Pete thought of taking nothing else from the cabin, +neither clothing, food, nor the money that he knew to be in Annersley's +wallet in the bedroom. The sun burned down upon his unprotected head, +but he did not feel it. He felt nothing save the burning ache in his +throat and a hope that the sheriff would arrest the men who had killed +his pop. He had great faith in the sheriff, who, as Annersley had told +him, was the law. The law punished evildoers. The men who had killed +pop would be hung—Pete was sure of that! +</P> + +<P> +Hatless, burning with fever and thirst, he arrived at the store in +Concho late in the afternoon. A friendly cowboy from the low country +joshed him about his warlike appearance. Young Pete was too exhausted +to retort. He marched into the store, told the storekeeper what had +happened, and asked for the sheriff. The storekeeper saw that there +was something gravely wrong with Pete. His face was flushed and his +eyes altogether too bright. He insisted on going at once to the +sheriff's office. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, you set down and rest. Just stay right here and keep your eye on +things out front—and I'll go get the sheriff." And the storekeeper +coaxed and soothed Pete into giving up his rifles. Promising to return +at once, the storekeeper set out on his errand, shaking his head +gravely. Annersley had been a good man, a man who commanded affection +and respect from most persons. And now the T-Bar-T men "had got him." +The storekeeper was not half so surprised as he was grieved. He had +had an idea that something like this might happen. It was a cattle +country, and Annersley had been the only homesteader within miles of +Concho. "I wonder just how much of this the sheriff knows already," he +soliloquized. "It's mighty tough on the kid." +</P> + +<P> +When Sheriff Sutton and the storekeeper entered the store they found +Young Pete in a stupor from which he did not awaken for many hours. He +was put to bed and a doctor summoned from a distant town. It would +have been useless, even brutal, to have questioned Pete, so the sheriff +simply took the two rifles and the cartridges to his office, with what +information the storekeeper could give him. The sheriff, who had +always respected Annersley, was sorry that this thing had happened. +Yet he was not sorry that Young Pete could give no evidence. The +cattlemen would have time to pretty well cover up their tracks. +Annersley had known the risks he was running when he took up the land. +The sheriff told his own conscience that "it was just plain suicide." +His conscience, being the better man, told him that it was "just plain +murder." The sheriff knew—and yet what could he do without evidence, +except visit the scene of the shooting, hold a post-mortem, and wait +until Young Pete was well enough to talk? +</P> + +<P> +One thing puzzled Sheriff Sutton. Both rifles had been used. So the +boy had taken a hand in the fight? Several shots must have been fired, +for Annersley was not a man to suffer such an outrage in silence. And +the boy was known to be a good shot. Yet there had been no news of +anyone having been wounded among the raiders. Sutton was preparing to +ride to the Blue and investigate when a T-Bar-T man loped up and +dismounted. They talked a minute or two. Then the cowboy rode out of +town. The sheriff was no longer puzzled about the two rifles having +been used. The cowboy had told him that two of the T-Bar-T men had +been killed. That in each instance a thirty-thirty, soft-nosed slug +had done the business. Annersley's rifle was an old forty-eighty-two, +shooting a solid lead bullet. +</P> + +<P> +When Sheriff Button arrived at the cabin he found the empty shells on +the floor, noted the holes in the window, and read the story of the +raid plainly. "Annersley shot to scare 'em off—but the kid shot to +kill," he argued. "And dam' if I blame him." +</P> + +<P> +Later, when Young Pete was able to talk, he was questioned by the +sheriff. He told of the raid, of the burning of the outbuildings, and +how Annersley had been killed. When questioned as to his own share in +the proceedings, Pete refused to answer. When shown the two guns and +asked which was his, he invariably replied, "Both of 'em," nor could he +be made to answer otherwise. Finally Sheriff Sutton gave it up, partly +because of public opinion, which was in open sympathy with Young Pete, +and partly because he feared that in case arrests were made, and Pete +were called as a witness, the boy would tell in court more than he had +thus far divulged. The sheriff thought that Pete was able to identify +one or more of the men who had entered the cabin, if he cared to do so. +As it was, Young Pete was crafty. Already he distrusted the sheriff's +sincerity. Then, the fact that two of the T-Bar-T men had been killed +rather quieted the public mind, which expressed itself as pretty well +satisfied that old man Annersley's account was squared. He or the boy +had "got" two of the enemy. In fact, it was more or less of a joke on +the T-Bar-T outfit—they should have known better. +</P> + +<P> +An inquest decided that Annersley had come to his death at the hands of +parties unknown. The matter was eventually shunted to one of the many +legal sidings along the single-track law that operated in that +vicinity. Annersley's effects were sold at auction and the proceeds +used to bury him. His homestead reverted to the Government, there +being no legal heir. Young Pete was again homeless, save for the +kindness of the storekeeper, who set him to work helping about the +place. +</P> + +<P> +In a few months Pete was seemingly over his grief, but he never gave up +the hope that some day he would find the man who had killed his pop. +In cow-camp and sheep-camp, in town and on the range, he had often +heard reiterated that unwritten law of the outlands: "If a man tried to +get you—run or fight. But if a man kills your friend or your kin—get +him." A law perhaps not as definitely worded in the retailing of +incident or example, but as obvious nevertheless as was the necessity +to live up to it or suffer the ever-lasting scorn of one's fellows. +</P> + +<P> +Some nine or ten months after the inquest Young Pete disappeared. No +one knew where he had gone, and eventually he was more or less +forgotten by the folk of Concho. But two men never forgot him—the +storekeeper and the sheriff. One of them hoped that the boy might come +back some day. He had grown fond of Pete. The other hoped that he +would not come back. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile the T-Bar-T herds grazed over Annersley's homestead. The +fence had been torn down, cattle wallowed in the mud of the water-hole, +and drifted about the place until little remained as evidence of the +old man's patient toil save the cabin. That Young Pete should again +return to the cabin and there unexpectedly meet Gary was undreamed of +as a possibility by either of them; yet fate had planned this very +thing—"otherwise," argues the Fatalist, "how could it have happened?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A CHANGE OF BASE +</H3> + +<P> +To say that Young Pete had any definite plan when he left Concho and +took up with an old Mexican sheep-herder would be stretching the +possibilities. And Pete Annersley's history will have to speak for +itself as illustrative of a plan from which he could not have departed +any more than he could have originated and followed to its final +ultimatum. +</P> + +<P> +Life with the storekeeper had been tame. Pete had no horse; and the +sheriff, taking him at his word, had refused to give up either one of +the rifles unless Pete would declare which one he had used that fateful +night of the raid. And Pete would not do that. He felt that somehow +he had been cheated. Even the storekeeper Roth discouraged him from +using fire-arms, fearing that the boy might some day "cut loose" at +somebody without word or warning. Pete was well fed and did not have +to work hard, yet his ideas of what constituted a living were far +removed from the conventions of Concho. He wanted to ride, to hunt, to +drive team, to work in the open with lots of elbow-room and under a +wide sky. His one solace while in the store was the array of rifles +and six-guns which he almost reverenced for their suggestive potency. +They represented power, and the only law that he believed in. +</P> + +<P> +Some time after Pete had disappeared, the store-keeper, going over his +stock, missed a heavy-caliber six-shooter. He wondered if the boy had +taken it. Roth did not care so much for the loss of the gun as for the +fact that Pete might have stolen it. Later Roth discovered a crudely +printed slip of paper among the trinkets in the showcase. "I took a +gun and cartriges for my wagges. You never giv me Wages." Which was +true enough, the storekeeper figuring that Pete's board and lodging +were just about offset by his services. In paying Pete a dollar a +week, Annersley had established a precedent which involved Young Pete's +pride as a wage-earner. In making Pete feel that he was really worth +more than his board and lodging, Annersley had helped the boy to a +certain self-respect which Pete subconsciously felt that he had lost +when Roth, the storekeeper, gave him a home and work but no pay. Young +Pete did not dislike Roth, but the contrast of Roth's close methods +with the large, free-handed dealings of Annersley was ever before him. +Pete was strong for utility. He had no boyish sense of the dramatic, +consciously. He had never had time to play. Everything he did, he did +seriously. So when he left Concho at dusk one summer evening, he did +not "run away" in any sense. He simply decided that it was time to go +elsewhere—and he went. +</P> + +<P> +The old Mexican, Montoya, had a band of sheep in the high country. +Recently the sheep had drifted past Concho, and Pete, alive to anything +and everything that was going somewhere, had waited on the Mexican at +the store. Sugar, coffee, flour, and beans were packed on the shaggy +burros. Pete helped carry the supplies to the doorway and watched him +pack. The two sharp-nosed sheep-dogs interested Pete. They seemed so +alert, and yet so quietly satisfied with their lot. The last thing the +old Mexican did was to ask for a few cartridges. Pete did not +understand just what kind he wanted. With a secretiveness which +thrilled Pete clear to the toes, the old herder, in the shadowy rear of +the store, drew a heavy six-shooter from under his arm and passed it +stealthily to Pete, who recognized the caliber and found cartridges for +it. Pete's manner was equally stealthy. This smacked of adventure! +Cattlemen and sheepmen were not friendly, as Pete knew. Pete had no +love for the "woolies," yet he hated cattlemen. The old Mexican +thanked him and invited him to visit his camp below Concho. Possibly +Pete never would have left the storekeeper—or at least not +immediately—had not that good man, always willing to cater to Pete's +curiosity as to guns and gunmen, told him that old Montoya, while a +Mexican, was a dangerous man with a six-gun; that he was seldom +molested by the cattlemen, who knew him to be absolutely without fear +and a dead shot. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh! That old herder ain't no gun-fighter!" Pete had said, although +he believed the storekeeper. Pete wanted to hear more. +</P> + +<P> +"Most Mexicans ain't," replied Roth, for Pete's statement was half a +challenge, half a question. "But José Montoya never backed down from a +fight—and he's had plenty." +</P> + +<P> +Pete was interested. He determined to visit Montoya's camp that +evening. He said nothing to Roth, as he intended to return. +</P> + +<P> +Long before Pete arrived at the camp he saw the tiny fire—a dot of red +against the dark—and he heard the muffled trampling of the sheep as +they bedded down for the night. Within a few yards of the camp the +dogs challenged him, charging down the gentle slope to where he stood. +Pete paid no attention to them, but marched up to the fire. Old +Montoya rose and greeted him pleasantly. Another Mexican, a slim +youth, bashfully acknowledged Pete's presence and called in the dogs. +Pete, who had known many outland camp-fires, made himself at home, +sitting cross-legged and affecting a mature indifference. The old +Mexican smoked and studied the youngster, amused by his evident attempt +to appear grown-up and disinterested. +</P> + +<P> +"That gun, he poke you in the rib, hey?"—and Montoya chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +Pete flushed and glanced down at the half-concealed weapon beneath his +arm. "Tied her on with string—ain't got no shoulder holster," Pete +explained in an offhand way. +</P> + +<P> +"What you do with him?" The old Mexican's deep-set eyes twinkled. +Pete studied Montoya's face. This was a direct but apparently friendly +query. Pete wondered if he should answer evasively or directly. The +fact was that he did not know just why he had taken the gun—or what he +intended to do with it. After all, it was none of Montoya's business, +yet Pete did not wish to offend the old man. He wanted to hear more +about gun-fights with the cattlemen. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, seein' it's you, señor,"—Pete adopted the grand air as most +befitting the occasion,—"I'm packin' this here gun to fight +cow-punchers with. Reckon you don't know some cow-punchers killed my +dad. I was just a kid then. [Pete was now nearly fourteen.] Some day +I'm goin' to git the man what killed him." +</P> + +<P> +Montoya did not smile. This muchacho evidently had spirit. Pete's +invention, made on the spur of the moment, had hit "plumb center," as +he told himself. For Montoya immediately became gracious, proffered +Pete tobacco and papers, and suggested coffee, which the young Mexican +made while Pete and the old man chatted. Pete was deeply impressed by +his reception. He felt that he had made a hit with Montoya—and that +the other had taken him seriously. Most men did not, despite the fact +that he was accredited with having slain two T-Bar-T cowboys. A +strange sympathy grew between this old Mexican and the lean, +bright-eyed young boy. Perhaps Pete's swarthy coloring and black eyes +had something to do with it. Possibly Pete's assurance, as contrasted +with the bashfulness and timidity of the old Mexican's nephew, had +something to do with Montoya's immediate friendliness. In any event, +the visit ended with an invitation to Pete to become a permanent member +of the sheep-camp, Montoya explaining that his nephew wanted to go +home; that he did not like the loneliness of a herder's life. +</P> + +<P> +Pete had witnessed too many horse-trades to accept this proposal at +once. His face expressed deep cogitation, as he flicked the ashes from +his cigarette and shook his head. "I dunno. Roth is a pretty good +boss. 'Course, he ain't no gun-fighter—and that's kind of in your +favor—" +</P> + +<P> +"What hombre say I make fight with gun?" queried Montoya. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, everybody! I reckon they's mighty few of 'em want to stack up +against you." +</P> + +<P> +Montoya frowned. "I don' talk like that," he said, shrugging his +shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt that he was getting in deep—but he had a happy inspiration. +"You don't have to talk. Your ole forty-four does the talking I +reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"You come and cook?" queried Montoya, coming straight to the point. +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno, amigo. I'll think about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Bueno. It is dark, I will walk with you to Concho." +</P> + +<P> +"You think I'm a kid?" flared Pete. "If was dark when I come over here +and it ain't any darker now. I ain't no doggone cow-puncher what's got +to git on a hoss afore he dast go anywhere." +</P> + +<P> +Montoya laughed. "You come to-morrow night, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon I will." +</P> + +<P> +"Then the camp will be over there—in the cañon. You will see the +fire." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll come over and have a talk anyway," said Pete, still unwilling to +let Montoya think him anxious. "Buenos noches!" +</P> + +<P> +Montoya nodded. "He will come," he said to his nephew. "Then it is +that you may go to the home. He is small—but of the very great +courage." +</P> + +<P> +The following evening Pete appeared at the herder's camp. The dogs ran +out, sniffed at him, and returned to the fire. Montoya made a place +for him on the thick sheepskins and asked him if he had eaten. Yes, he +had had supper, but he had no blankets. Could Montoya let him have a +blanket until he had earned enough money to buy one? +</P> + +<P> +The old herder told him that he could have the nephew's blankets; Pedro +was to leave camp next day and go home. As for money, Montoya did not +pay wages. Of course, for tobacco, or a coat or pants, he could have +the money when he needed them. +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt a bit taken aback. He had burnt his bridges—he could not +return to Concho—yet he wanted a definite wage. "I kin pack—make and +break camp—and sure cook the frijoles. Pop learned me all that; but +he was payin' me a dollar a week. He said I was jest as good as a man. +A dollar a week ain't much." +</P> + +<P> +The old herder shook his head. "Not until I sell the wool can I pay." +</P> + +<P> +"When do you sell that wool?" +</P> + +<P> +"When the pay for it is good. Sometimes I wait." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I kin see where I don't get rich herdin' sheep." +</P> + +<P> +"We shall see. Perhaps, if you are a good boy—" +</P> + +<P> +"You got me wrong, señor. Roth he said I was the limit—and even my +old pop said I was a tough kid. I ain't doin' this for my health. I +hooked up with you 'cause I kinda thought—" +</P> + +<P> +"Si?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Roth was tellin' as how you could make a six-gun smoke faster +than most any hombre a-livin'. Now, I was figurin' if you would show +me how to work this ole smoke-wagon here"—and Pete touched the huge +lump beneath his shirt—"why, that would kinda be like wages—but I +ain't got no money to buy cartridges." +</P> + +<P> +"I, José de la Crux Montoya, will show you how to work him. It is a +big gun for such a chico." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I reckon I kin hold her down. When do we start the shootin' +match?" +</P> + +<P> +Montoya smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Mañana, perhaps." +</P> + +<P> +"Then that's settled!" Pete heaved a sigh. "But how am I goin' to git +them cartridges?" +</P> + +<P> +"From the store." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right. But how many do I git for workin' for you?" +</P> + +<P> +Montoya laughed outright. "You will become a good man with the sheep. +You will not waste the flour and the beans and the coffee and the +sugar, like Pedro here. You will count and not say—'Oh, I think it's +so much'—and because of that I will buy you two boxes of cartridges." +</P> + +<P> +"Two boxes—a hundred a month?" +</P> + +<P> +"Even so. You will waste many until you learn." +</P> + +<P> +"Shake!" said Pete. "That suits me! And if any doggone ole brush-cats +or lion or bear come pokin' around this here camp, we'll sure smoke 'em +up. And if any of them cow-chasers from the mountain or the Concho +starts monkeyin' with our sheep, there's sure goin' to be a cowboy +funeral in these parts! You done hired a good man when you hired me!" +</P> + +<P> +"We shall see," said Montoya, greatly amused. "But there is much work +to be done as well as the shooting." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be there!" exclaimed Pete. "What makes them sheep keep a-moanin' +and a-bawlin' and a-shufflin' round? Don't they never git to sleep?" +</P> + +<P> +"Si, but it is a new camp. To-morrow night they will be quiet. It is +always so." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, they sure make enough noise. When do we git goin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pedro, he will leave mañana. In two days we will move the camp." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I don't reckon Roth would be lookin' for me in any +sheep-camp anyhow." Young Pete was not afraid of the storekeeper, but +the fact that he had taken the gun troubled him, even though he had +left a note explaining that he took the gun in lieu of wages. He +shared Pedro's blankets, but slept little. The sheep milled and bawled +most of the night. Even before daybreak Pete was up and building a +fire. The sheep poured from the bedding-ground and pattered down to +the cañon stream. Later they spread out across the wide cañon-bottom +and grazed, watched by the dogs. +</P> + +<P> +Full-fed and happy, Young Pete helped Pedro clean the camp-utensils. +The morning sun, pushing up past the cañon-rim, picked out the details +of the camp one by one—the smouldering fire of cedar wood, the packs, +saddles and ropes, the water-cask, the lazy burros waiting for the sun +to warm them to action, the blankets and sheepskin bedding, and farther +down the cañon a still figure standing on a slight rise of ground and +gazing into space—the figure of José de la Crux Montoya, the +sheep-herder whom Roth had said feared no man and was a dead shot. +</P> + +<P> +Pete knew Spanish—he had heard little else spoken in Concho—and he +thought that "Joseph of the Cross" was a strange name for a recognized +gunman. "But Mexicans always stick crosses over graves," soliloquized +Pete. "Mebby that's why he's got that fancy name. Gee! But this sure +beats tendin' store!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NEW VISTAS +</H3> + +<P> +Much that Annersley had taught Pete was undone in the lazy, listless +life of the sheep-camp. There was a certain slow progressiveness about +it, however, that saved it from absolute monotony. Each day the sheep +grazed out, the distance being automatically adjusted by the coming of +night, when they were bunched and slowly drifted back to the +bedding-ground. A day or two—depending on the grazing—and they were +bedded in a new place as the herder worked toward the low country +followed by a recurrent crispness in the air that presaged the coming +of winter in the hills. Pete soon realized that, despite their seeming +independence, sheep-men were slaves of the seasons. They "followed the +grass" and fled from cold weather and snow. At times, if the winter +was severe in the lower levels, they even had to winter-feed to save +the band. Lambs became tired or sick—unable to follow the ewes—and +Pete often found some lone lamb hiding beneath a clump of brush where +it would have perished had he not carried it on to the flock and +watched it until it grew stronger. He learned that sheep were +gregarious—that a sheep left alone on the mesa, no matter how strong, +through sheer loneliness would cease to eat and slowly starve to death. +Used to horses, Pete looked upon sheep with contempt. They had neither +individual nor collective intelligence. Let them once become +frightened and if not immediately headed off by the dogs, they would +stampede over the brink of an arroyo and trample each other to death. +This all but happened once when Montoya was buying provisions in town +and Pete was in charge of the band. The camp was below the rim of a +cañon. The sheep were scattered over a mile or so of mesa, grazing +contentedly. The dogs, out-posted on either side of the flock, were +resting, but alert. To the left, some distance from the sheep, was the +cañon-rim and a trail, gatewayed by two huge boulders, man-high, with +about enough space between them for a burro to pass. A horse could +hardly have squeezed through. Each night the sheep were headed for +this pass and worked through, one at a time, stringing down the trail +below which was steep and sandy. At the cañon bottom was water and +across the shallows were the bedding-grounds and the camp. Pete, +drowsing in the sun, occasionally glanced up at the flock. He saw no +need for standing up, as Montoya always did when out with the band. +The sheep were all right—and the day was hot. Presently Pete became +interested in a mighty battle between a colony of red ants which seemed +to be attacking a colony of big black ants that had in some way +infringed on some international agreement, or overstepped the +color-line. Pete picked up a twig and hastily scraped up a sand +barricade, to protect the red ants, who, despite their valor, seemed to +be getting the worst of it. Black ants scurried to the top of the +barricade to be grappled by the tiny red ants, who fought valiantly. +Pete saw a red ant meet one of the enemy who was twice his size, +wrestle with him and finally best him. Evidently this particular black +ant, though deceased, was of some importance, possibly an officer, for +the little red ant seized him and bore him bodily to the rear where he +in turn collapsed and was carried to the adjoining ant-hill by two of +his comrades evidently detailed on ambulance work. "Everybody +scraps—even the bugs," said Pete. "Them little red cusses sure ain't +scared o' nothin'." Stream after stream of red ants hastened to +reinforce their comrades on the barricade. The battle became general. +Pete grew excited. He was scraping up another barricade when he heard +one of the dogs bark. He glanced up. The sheep, frightened by a +buzzard that had swooped unusually close to them, bunched and shot +toward the cañon in a cloud of dust. Pete jumped to his feet and ran +swiftly toward the rock gateway to head them off. He knew that they +would make for the trail, and that those that did not get through the +pass would trample the weaker sheep to death. The dog on the cañon +side of the band raced across their course, snapping at the foremost in +a sturdy endeavor to turn them. But he could not. He ran, nipped a +sheep, and then jumped back to save himself from being cut to pieces by +the blundering feet. Young Pete saw that he could not reach the pass +ahead of them. Out of breath and half-sobbing as he realized the +futility of his effort, he suddenly recalled an incident like this when +Montoya, failing to head the band in a similar situation, had coolly +shot the leader and had broken the stampede. +</P> + +<P> +Pete immediately sat down, and rested the barrel of his six-shooter on +his knee. He centered on the pass. A few seconds—and a big ram, +several feet ahead of the others, dashed into the notch. Pete grasped +his gun with both hands and fired. The ram reared and dropped just +within the rocky gateway. Pete saw another sheep jump over the ram and +disappear. Pete centered on the notch again and as the gray mass +bunched and crowded together to get through, he fired. Another sheep +toppled and fell. Still the sheep rushed on, crowding against the +rocks and trampling each other in a frantic endeavor to get through. +Occasionally one of the leaders leaped over the two dead sheep and +disappeared down the trail. But the first force of their stampede was +checked. Dropping his gun, Pete jumped up and footed it for the notch, +waving his hat as he ran. Bleating and bawling, the band turned slowly +and swung parallel to the cañon-rim. The dogs, realizing that they +could now turn the sheep back, joined forces, and running a ticklish +race along the very edge of the cañon, headed the band toward the safe +ground to the west. Pete, as he said later, "cussed 'em a plenty." +When he took up his station between the band and the cañon, wondering +what Montoya would say when he returned. +</P> + +<P> +When the old Mexican, hazing the burros across the mesa, saw Pete wave +his hat, he knew that something unusual had happened. Montoya shrugged +his shoulders as Pete told of the stampede. +</P> + +<P> +"So it is with the sheep," said Montoya casually. "These we will take +away, for the sheep will smell the blood and not go down the trail." +And he pointed to the ram and the ewe that Pete had shot. "I will go +to the camp and unpack. You have killed two good sheep, but you have +saved many." +</P> + +<P> +Pete said nothing about the battle of the ants. He knew that he had +been remiss, but he thought that in eventually turning the sheep he had +made up for it. +</P> + +<P> +And because Pete was energetic, self-reliant, and steady, capable of +taking the burros into town and packing back provisions promptly—for +Pete, unlike most boys, did not care to loaf about town—the old herder +became exceedingly fond of him, although he seldom showed it in a +direct way. Rather, he taught Pete Mexican—colloquialisms and idioms +that are not found in books—until Pete, who already knew enough of the +language to get along handily, became thoroughly at home whenever he +chanced to meet a Mexican—herder, cowboy, or storekeeper. Naturally, +Pete did not appreciate the value of this until later—when his +familiarity with the language helped him out of many a tight place. +But what Pete did appreciate was the old herder's skill with the +six-gun—his uncanny ability to shoot from any position on the instant +and to use the gun with either hand with equal facility. In one of the +desert towns Pete had traded a mountain-lion skin for a belt and +holster and several boxes of cartridges to boot, for Pete was keen at +bargaining. Later the old Mexican cut down the belt to fit Pete and +taught him how to hang the gun to the best advantage. Then he taught +Pete to "draw," impressing upon him that while accuracy was exceedingly +desirable, a quick draw was absolutely essential. Pete practiced early +and late, more than disgusted because Montoya made him practice with an +empty gun. He "threw down" on moving sheep, the dogs, an occasional +distant horseman, and even on Montoya himself, but never until the old +herder had examined the weapon and assured himself that he would not be +suddenly bumped off into glory by his ambitious assistant. As some men +play cards, partly for amusement and partly to keep their hands in, so +Pete and Montoya played the six-gun game, and neither seemed to tire of +the amusement. Montoya frequently unloaded his own gun and making sure +that Pete had done likewise, the old herder would stand opposite him +and count—"Una, duo, tres," and the twain would "go for their guns" to +see who would get in the first theoretical shot. At first Pete was +slow. His gun was too heavy for him and his wrist was not quick. But +he stuck to it until finally he could draw and shoot almost as fast as +his teacher. Later they practiced while sitting down, while reclining +propped on one elbow, and finally from a prone position, where Pete +learned to roll sideways, draw and shoot even as a side-winder of the +desert strikes without coiling. Montoya taught him to throw a shot +over his shoulder, to "roll" his gun, to pretend to surrender it, and, +handing it out butt first, flip it over and shoot the theoretical +enemy. He also taught him one trick which, while not considered +legitimate by most professional gunmen, was exceedingly worth while on +account of its deadly unexpectedness—and that was to shoot through the +open holster without drawing the gun. Such practice allowed of only a +limited range, never higher than a man's belt, but as Montoya +explained, a shot belt-high and center was most effective. +</P> + +<P> +Pete took an almost vicious delight in perfecting himself in this +trick. He knew of most of the other methods—but shooting with the gun +in the holster was difficult and for close-range work, and just in +proportion to its difficulty Pete persevered. +</P> + +<P> +He was fond of Montoya in an offhand way, but with the lessons in +gunmanship his fondness became almost reverence for the old man's easy +skill and accuracy. Despite their increasing friendliness, Pete could +never get Montoya to admit that he had killed a man—and Pete thought +this strange, at that time. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's lessons were not always without grief. Montoya, ordinarily +genial, was a hard master to please. Finally, when Pete was allowed to +use ammunition in his practice, and insisted on sighting at an object, +Montoya reproved him sharply for wasting time. "It is like this," he +would say; illustrating on the instant he would throw a shot into the +chance target without apparent aim. Once he made Pete put down his gun +and take up a handful of stones. "Now shoot," he said. Pete, much +chagrined, pelted the stones rapidly at the empty can target. To his +surprise he missed it only once. "Now shoot him like that," said +Montoya. Pete, chafing because of this "kid stuff," as he called the +stone-throwing, picked up his gun and "threw" five shots at the can. +He was angry and he shot fast, but he hit the can twice. From that +minute he "caught on." Speed tended toward accuracy, premising one was +used to the "feel" of a gun. And accuracy tended toward speed, giving +one assurance. Even as one must throw a stone with speed to be +accurate, so one must shoot with speed. It was all easy enough—like +everything else—when you had the hang of it. +</P> + +<P> +How often a hero of fiction steps into a story—or rides into it—whose +deadly accuracy, lightning-like swiftness, appalling freedom from +accident, ostrich-like stomach and camel-like ability to go without +water, earn him the plaudits of a legion of admiring readers. Apropos +of such a hero, your old-timer will tell you, "that there ain't no such +animal." If your old-timer is a friend—perchance carrying the +never-mentioned scars of cattle-wars and frontier raids—he may tell +you that many of the greatest gunmen practiced early and late, spent +all their spare money on ammunition, never "showed-off" before an +audience, always took careful advantage of every fighting chance, saved +their horses and themselves from undue fatigue when possible, never +killed a man when they could avoid killing him, bore themselves +quietly, didn't know the meaning of Romance, but were strong for +utility, and withal worked as hard and suffered as much in becoming +proficient in their vocation as the veriest artisan of the cities. +Circumstances, hazard, untoward event, even inclination toward +excitement, made some of these men heroes, but never in their own eyes. +There were exceptions, of course, but most of the exceptions were +buried. +</P> + +<P> +And Young Pete, least of all, dreamed of becoming a hero. He liked +guns and all that pertained to them. The feel of a six-shooter in his +hand gave him absolute pleasure. The sound of a six-shooter was music +to him, and the potency contained in the polished cylinder filled with +blunt-nosed slugs was something that he could appreciate. He was a +born gunman, as yet only in love with the tools of his trade, +interested more in the manipulation than in eventual results. He +wished to become expert, but in becoming expert he forgot for the time +being his original intent of eventually becoming the avenger of +Annersley. Pride in his ability to draw quick and shoot straight, with +an occasional word of praise from old Montoya, pretty well satisfied +him. When he was not practicing he was working, and thought only of +the task at hand. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was generally liked in the towns where he occasionally bought +provisions. He was known as "Montoya's boy," and the townsfolk had a +high respect for the old Mexican. One circumstance, however, ruffled +the placid tenor of his way and tended to give him the reputation of +being a "bronco muchacho"—a rough boy; literally a bad boy, as white +folks would have called him. +</P> + +<P> +Montoya sent him into town for some supplies. As usual, Pete rode one +of the burros. It was customary for Pete to leave his gun in camp when +going to town. Montoya had suggested that he do this, as much for +Pete's sake as for anything else. The old man knew that slightly older +boys were apt to make fun of Pete for packing such a disproportionately +large gun—or, in fact, for packing any gun at all. And Montoya also +feared that Pete might get into trouble. Pete was pugnacious, +independent, and while always possessing enough humor to hold his own +in a wordy argument, he had much pride, considering himself the equal +of any man and quite above the run of youths of the towns. And he +disliked Mexicans—Montoya being the one exception. This morning he +did not pack his gun, but hung it on the cross-tree of the pack-saddle. +There were many brush rabbits on the mesa, and they made interesting +targets. +</P> + +<P> +About noon he arrived at the town—Laguna. He bought the few +provisions necessary and piled them on the ground near his burros. He +had brought some cold meat and bread with him which he ate, squatted +out in front of the store. Several young loafers gathered round and +held high argument among themselves as to whether Pete was a Mexican or +not. This in itself was not altogether pleasing to Pete. He knew that +he was tanned to a swarthy hue, was naturally of a dark complexion, and +possessed black hair and eyes. But his blood rebelled at even the +suggestion that he was a Mexican. He munched his bread and meat, +tossed the crumbs to a stray dog and rolled a cigarette. One of the +Mexican boys asked him for tobacco and papers. Pete gladly proffered +"the makings." The Mexican youth rolled a cigarette and passed the +sack of tobacco to his companions. Pete eyed this breach of etiquette +sternly, and received the sack back, all but empty. But still he said +nothing, but rose and entering the store—a rambling, flat-roofed +adobe—bought another sack of tobacco. When he came out the boys were +laughing. He caught a word or two which drove the jest home. In the +vernacular, he was "an easy mark." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby I am," he said in Mexican. "But I got the price to buy my +smokes. I ain't no doggone loafer." +</P> + +<P> +The Mexican youth who had asked for the tobacco retorted with some more +or less vile language, intimating that Pete was neither Mexican nor +white—an insult compared to which mere anathema was as nothing. Pete +knew that if he started a row he would get properly licked—that the +boys would all pile on him and chase him out of town. So he turned his +back on the group and proceeded to pack the burros. The Mexican boys +forgot the recent unpleasantness in watching him pack. They realized +that he knew his business. But Pete was not through with them yet. +When he had the burros in shape to travel he picked up the stick with +which he hazed them and faced the group. What he said to them was +enough with some to spare for future cogitation. He surpassed mere +invective with flaming innuendos as to the ancestry, habits, and +appearance of these special gentlemen and of Mexicans in general. He +knew Mexicans and knew where he could hit hardest. He wound up with +gentle intimation that the town would have made a respectable pigsty, +but that a decent pig would have a hard time keeping his self-respect +among so many descendants of the canine tribe. It was a beautiful, an +eloquent piece of work, and even as he delivered it he felt rather +proud of his command of the Mexican idiom. Then he made a mistake. He +promptly turned his back and started the burros toward the distant +camp. Had he kept half an eye on the boys he might have avoided +trouble. But he had turned his back. They thought that he was both +angry and afraid. They also made a slight mistake. The youth who had +borrowed the tobacco and who had taken most of Pete's eloquence to +heart—for he had inspired it—called the dog that lay back of them in +the shade and set him on Pete and the burros. If a burro hates +anything it is to be attacked by a dog. Pete whirled and swung his +stick. The dog, a huge, lean, coyote-faced animal, dodged and snapped +at the nearest burro's heels. That placid animal promptly bucked and +ran. His brother burro took the cue and did likewise. Presently the +immediate half-mile square was decorated with loose provisions—sugar, +beans, flour, a few cans of tomatoes, and chiles broken from the sack +and strung out in every direction. The burros became a seething cloud +of dust in the distance. Pete chased the dog which naturally circled +and ran back of the group of the store. Older Mexicans gathered and +laughed. The boys, feeling secure in the presence of their seniors, +added their shrill yelps of pleasure. Pete, boiling internally, +white-faced and altogether too quiet, slowly gathered up what +provisions were usable. Presently he came upon his gun, which had been +bucked from the pack-saddle. The Mexicans were still laughing when he +strode back to the store. The dog, scenting trouble, bristled and +snarled, baring his long fangs and standing with one forefoot raised. +Before the assembly realized what had happened, Pete had whipped out +his gun. With the crash of the shot the dog doubled up and dropped in +his tracks. The boys scattered and ran. Pete cut loose in their +general direction. They ran faster. The older folk, chattering and +scolding, backed into the store. "Montoya's boy was loco. He would +kill somebody!" Some of the women crossed themselves. The +storekeeper, who knew Pete slightly, ventured out. He argued with +Pete, who blinked and nodded, but would not put up his gun. The +Mexicans feared him for the very fact that he was a boy and might do +anything. Had he been a man he might have been shot. But this did not +occur to Pete. He was fighting mad. His burros were gone and his +provisions scattered, save a few canned tomatoes that had not suffered +damage. The storekeeper started toward him. Pete centered on that +worthy's belt-buckle and told him to stay where he was. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll blow a hole in you that you can drive a team through if you come +near me!" asserted Pete. "I come in here peaceful, and you doggone +Cholas wrecked my outfit and stampeded my burros; but they ain't no +Mexican can run a whizzer on me twict. I'm white—see!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not I that did this thing," said the storekeeper. +</P> + +<P> +"No, but the doggone town did! I reckon when José Montoya comes in and +wants his grub, you'll settle all right. And he's comin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you will go and not shoot any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"When I git ready. But you kin tell your outfit that the first Chola +that follows me is goin' to run up ag'inst a slug that'll bust him wide +open. I'm goin'—but I'm comin' back." +</P> + +<P> +Pete, satisfied that he had conducted himself in a manner befitting the +occasion, backed away a few steps and finally turned and marched across +the mesa. They had wrecked his outfit. He'd show 'em! Old Montoya +knew that something was wrong when the burros drifted in with their +pack-saddles askew. He thought that possibly some coyote had stampeded +them. He righted the pack-saddles and drove the burros back toward +Laguna. Halfway across the mesa he met Pete, who told him what had +happened. Montoya said nothing. Pete had hoped that his master would +rave and threaten all sorts of vengeance. But the old man simply +nodded, and plodding along back of the burros, finally entered Laguna +and strode up to the store. All sorts of stories were afloat, stories +which Montoya discounted liberally, because he knew Pete. The owner of +the dog claimed damages. Montoya, smiling inwardly, referred that +gentleman to Pete, who stood close to his employer, hoping that he +would start a real row, but pretty certain that he would not. That was +Montoya's way. The scattered provisions as far as possible were +salvaged and fresh supplies loaded on the burros. When Montoya was +ready to leave he turned to the few Mexicans in front of the store: +"When I send my boy in here for flour and the beans and the sugar, it +will be well to keep the dogs away—and to remember that it is Jose de +la Crux that has sent him. For the new provisions I do not pay. +Adios, señors." +</P> + +<P> +Pete thought that this was rather tame—but still Montoya's manner was +decidedly business-like. No one controverted him—not even the +storekeeper, who was the loser. +</P> + +<P> +A small crowd had assembled. Excitement such as this was rare in +Laguna. While still in plain sight of the group about the store, and +as Montoya plodded slowly along behind the burros, Pete turned and +launched his parthian shot—that eloquently expressive gesture of +contempt and scorn wherein is employed the thumb, the nose, and the +outspread fingers of one hand. He was still very much a boy. +</P> + +<P> +About a year later—after drifting across a big territory of grazing +land, winter-feeding the sheep near Largo, and while preparing to drive +south again and into the high country—Pete met young Andy White, a +clean-cut, sprightly cowboy riding for the Concho outfit. Andy had +ridden down to Largo on some errand or other and had tied his pony in +front of the store when Montoya's sheep billowed down the street and +frightened the pony. Young Pete, hazing the burros, saw the pony pull +back and break the reins, whirl and dash out into the open and circle +the mesa with head and tail up. It was a young horse, not actually +wild, but decidedly frisky. Pete had not been on a horse for many +months. The beautiful pony, stamping and snorting in the morning sun, +thrilled Pete clear to his toes. To ride—anywhere—what a contrast to +plodding along with the burros! To feel a horse between his knees +again! To swing up and ride—ride across the mesa to that dim line of +hills where the sun touched the blue of the timber and the gold of the +quaking-asp and burned softly on the far woodland trail that led south +and south across the silent ranges! Pete snatched a rope from the pack +and walked out toward the pony. That good animal, a bit afraid of the +queer figure in the flapping overalls and flop-brimmed sombrero, +snorted and swung around facing him. Dragging his rope, Pete walked +slowly forward. The pony stopped and flung up its head. Pete flipped +the loop and set back on his heels. The rope ran taut. Pete was +prepared for the usual battle, but the pony, instead, "came to the +rope" and sniffed curiously at Pete, who patted his nose and talked to +him. Assured that his strange captor knew horses, the pony allowed him +to slip the rope round his nose and mount without even sidling. Pete +was happy. This was something like! As for Montoya and the +sheep—they were drifting on in a cloud of dust, the burros following +placidly. +</P> + +<P> +"You sure caught him slick." +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded to the bright-faced young cowboy who had stepped up to him. +Andy White was older than Pete, heavier and taller, with keen blue eyes +and an expression as frank and fearless as the morning itself. In +contrast, Young Pete was lithe and dark, his face was more mature, more +serious, and his black eyes seemed to see everything at a glance—a +quick, indifferent glance that told no one what was behind the +expression. Andy was light-skinned and ruddy. Pete was swarthy and +black-haired. For a second or so they stood, then White genially +thrust out his hand. "Thanks!" he said heartily. "You sabe 'em." +</P> + +<P> +It was a little thing to say and yet it touched Pete's pride. Deep in +his heart he was a bit ashamed of consorting with a sheep-herder—a +Mexican; and to be recognized as being familiar with horses pleased him +more than his countenance showed. "Yes. I handled 'em +some—tradin'—when I was a kid." +</P> + +<P> +Andy glanced at the boyish figure and smiled. "You're wastin' good +time with that outfit,"—and he gestured with his thumb toward the +sheep. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I dunno. José Montoya ain't so slow—with a gun." +</P> + +<P> +Andy White laughed. "Old Crux ain't a bad old scout—but you ain't a +Mexican. Anybody can see that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, just for fun—suppose I was." +</P> + +<P> +"It would be different," said Andy. "You're white, all right!" +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' my catchin' your cayuse. Well, anybody'd do that." +</P> + +<P> +"They ain't nothin' to drink but belly-wash in this town," said Andy +boyishly. "But you come along down to the store an' I'll buy." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go you! I see you're ridin' for the Concho." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh, a year." +</P> + +<P> +Pete walked beside this new companion and Pete was thinking hard. +"What's your name?" he queried suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"White—Andy White. What's yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pete Annersley," he replied proudly. +</P> + +<P> +They sat outside the store and drank bottled pop and swapped youthful +yarns of the range and camp until Pete decided that he had better go. +But his heart was no longer with the sheep. +</P> + +<P> +He rose and shook hands with Andy. "If you git a chanct, ride over to +our camp sometime. I'm goin' up the Largo. You can find us. +Mebby"—and he hesitated, eying the pony—"mebby I might git a chanct +to tie up to your outfit. I'm sick of the woolies." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't blame you, amigo. If I hear of anything I'll come a-fannin' and +tell you. So-long. She's one lovely mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +Pete turned and plodded down the dusty road. Far ahead the sheep +shuffled along, the dogs on either side of the band and old Montoya +trudging behind and driving the burros. Pete said nothing as he caught +up with Montoya, merely taking his place and hazing the burros toward +their first camp in the cañon. +</P> + +<P> +It was an aimless life, with little chance of excitement; but riding +range—that was worth while! Already Pete had outgrown any sense of +dependency on the old Mexican. He felt that he was his own man. He +had been literally raised with the horses and until this morning he had +not missed them so much. But the pony and the sprightly young cowboy, +with his keen, smiling face and swinging chaps, had stirred longings in +Young Pete's heart that no amount of ease or outdoor freedom with the +sheep could satisfy. He wanted action. His life with Montoya had made +him careless but not indolent. He felt a touch of shame, realizing +that such a thought was disloyal to Montoya, who had done so much for +him. But what sentiment Pete had, ceased immediately, however, when +the main chance loomed, and he thought he saw his fortune shaping +toward the range and the cow-ponies. He had liked Andy White from the +beginning. Perhaps they could arrange to ride together if he (Pete) +could get work with the Concho outfit. The gist of it all was that +Pete was lonely and did not realize it. Montoya was much older, grave, +and often silent for days. He seemed satisfied with the life. Pete, +in his way, had aspirations—vague as yet, but slowly shaping toward a +higher plane than the herding of sheep. He had had experiences enough +for a man twice his age, and he knew that he had ability. As Andy +White had said, it was wasting good time, this sheep-herding. Well, +perhaps something would turn up. In the meantime there was camp to +make, water to pack, and plenty of easy detail to take up his immediate +time. Perhaps he would talk with Montoya after supper about making a +change. Perhaps not. It might be better to wait until he saw Andy +White again. +</P> + +<P> +In camp that night Montoya asked Pete if he were sick. Pete shook his +head; "Jest thinkin'," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +Old Montoya, wise in his way, knew that something had occurred, yet he +asked no further questions, but rolled a cigarette and smoked, +wondering whether Young Pete were dissatisfied with the pay he gave +him—for Pete now got two dollars a week and his meals. Montoya +thought of offering him more. The boy was worth more. But he would +wait. If Pete showed any disposition to leave, then would be time +enough to speak. So they sat by the fire in the keen evening air, each +busy with his own thoughts, while the restless sheep bedded down, +bleating and shuffling, and the dogs lay with noses toward the fire, +apparently dozing, but ever alert for a stampede; alert for any +possibility—even as were Montoya and Pete, although outwardly placid +and silent. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, after the sheep were out, Pete picked up a pack-rope and +amused himself by flipping the loop on the burros, the clumps of brush, +stubs, and limbs, keeping at it until the old herder noticed and +nodded. "He is thinking of the cattle," soliloquized Montoya. "I will +have to get a new boy some day. But he will speak, and then I shall +know." +</P> + +<P> +While Pete practiced with the rope he was figuring how long it would +take him to save exactly eighteen dollars and a half, for that was the +price of a Colt's gun such as he had taken from the store at Concho. +Why he should think of saving the money for a gun is not quite clear. +He already had one. Possibly because they were drifting back toward +the town of Concho, Pete wished to be prepared in case Roth asked him +about the gun. Pete had eleven dollars pinned in the watch-pocket of +his overalls. In three weeks, at most, they would drive past Concho. +He would then have seventeen dollars. Among his personal effects he +had two bobcat skins and a coyote-hide. Perhaps he could sell them for +a dollar or two. How often did Andy White ride the Largo Cañon? The +Concho cattle grazed to the east. Perhaps White had forgotten his +promise to ride over some evening. Pete swung his loop and roped a +clump of brush. "I'll sure forefoot you, you doggone longhorn!" he +said. "I'll git my iron on you, you maverick! I'm the Ridin' Kid from +Powder River, and I ride 'em straight up an' comin'." So he romanced, +his feet on the ground, but his heart with the bawling herd and the +charging ponies. "Like to rope a lion," he told himself as he swung +his rope again. "Same as High-Chin Bob." Just then one of the dogs, +attracted by Pete's unusual behavior, trotted up. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's rope shot out and dropped. The dog had never been roped. His +dignity was assaulted. He yelped and started straightway for Montoya, +who stood near the band, gazing, as ever, into space. Just as the rope +came taut, Pete's foot slipped and he lost the rope. The dog, +frightened out of his wits, charged down on the sheep. The trailing +rope startled them. They sagged in, crowding away from the +terror-stricken dog. Fear, among sheep, spreads like fire in dry +grass. In five seconds the band was running, with Montoya calling to +the dogs and Pete trying to capture the flying cause of the trouble. +</P> + +<P> +When the sheep were turned and had resumed their grazing, Montoya, who +had caught the roped dog, strode to Pete. "It was a bad thing to do," +he said easily. "Why did you rope him?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete scowled and stammered. "Thought he was a lion. He came a-tearin' +up, and I was thinkin' o' lions. So, I jest nacherally loops him. I +was praticin'." +</P> + +<P> +"First it was the gun. Now it is the rope," said Montoya, smiling. +"You make a vaquero, some day, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, mebby. But I sure won't quit you till you get 'em over the range, +even if I do git a chanct to ride for some outfit. But I ain't got a +job, yet." +</P> + +<P> +"I would not like to have you go," said Montoya. "You are a good boy." +</P> + +<P> +Pete had nothing to say. He wished Montoya had not called him "a good +boy." That hurt. If Montoya had only scolded him for stampeding the +sheep.… But Montoya had spoken in a kindly way. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PLANS +</H3> + +<P> +Several nights later a horseman rode into Montoya's camp. Pete, +getting supper, pretended great indifference until he heard the +horseman's voice. It was young Andy White who had come to visit, as he +had promised. Pete's heart went warm, and he immediately found an +extra tin plate and put more coffee in the pot. He was glad to see +White, but he was not going to let White know how glad. He greeted the +young cowboy in an offhand way, taking the attitude of being so +engrossed with cooking that he could not pay great attention to a stray +horseman just then. But later in the evening, after they had eaten, +the two youths chatted and smoked while Montoya listened and gazed out +across the evening mesa. He understood. Pete was tired of the sheep +and would sooner or later take up with the cattle. That was natural +enough. He liked Pete; really felt as a father toward him. And the +old Mexican, who was skilled in working leather, thought of the +hand-carved holster and belt that he had been working on during his +spare time—a present that he had intended giving Pete when it was +completed. There was still a little work to do on the holster; the +flower pattern in the center was not quite finished. To-morrow he +would finish it—for he wanted to have it ready. If Pete stayed with +him, he would have it—and if Pete left he should have something by +which to remember José de la Crux Montoya—something to remember him +by, and something useful—for even then Montoya realized that if Young +Pete survived the present hazards that challenged youth and an +adventurous heart, some day, as a man grown, Pete would thoroughly +appreciate the gift. A good holster, built on the right lines and one +from which a gun came easily, would be very useful to a man of Pete's +inclinations. And when it came to the fit and hang of a holster, +Montoya knew his business. +</P> + +<P> +Three weeks later, almost to a day, the sheep were grazing below the +town of Concho, near the camp where Pete had first visited Montoya and +elected to work for him. On the higher levels several miles to the +east was the great cattle outfit of the Concho; the home-buildings, +corrals, and stables. Pete had seen some of the Concho boys—chance +visitors at the homestead on the Blue—and he had been thinking of +these as the sheep drifted toward Concho. After all, he was not +equipped to ride, as he had no saddle, bridle, chaps, boots, and not +even a first-class rope. Pete had too much pride to acknowledge his +lack of riding-gear or the wherewithal to purchase it, even should he +tie up with the Concho boys. So when Andy White, again visiting the +sheep-camp, told Pete that the Concho foreman had offered no +encouragement in regard to an extra hand, Pete nodded as though the +matter were of slight consequence, which had the effect of stirring +Andy to renewed eloquence anent the subject—as Pete had hoped. The +boys discussed ways and means. There was much discussion, but no +visible ways and means. Andy's entire wealth was invested in his own +gay trappings. Pete possessed something like seventeen dollars. But +there is nothing impossible to youth—for when youth realizes the +impossible, youth has grown a beard and fears the fire. +</P> + +<P> +Both boys knew that there were many poor Mexicans in the town of Concho +who, when under the expansive influence of wine, would part with almost +anything they or their neighbors possessed, for a consideration. There +were Mexicans who would sell horse, saddle, and bridle for that amount, +especially when thirsty—for seventeen dollars meant unlimited vino and +a swaggering good time—for a time. Pete knew this only too well. He +suggested the idea to Andy, who concurred with enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"Cholas is no good anyhow," blurted Andy. "You ain't robbin' nobody +when you buy a Chola outfit. Let's go!" +</P> + +<P> +Montoya, who sat by the fire, coughed. +</P> + +<P> +"'Course, I was meanin' some Cholas," said Andy. +</P> + +<P> +The old herder smiled to himself. The boys amused him. He had been +young once—and very poor. And he had ridden range in his youthful +days. A mild fatalist, he knew that Pete would not stay long, and +Montoya was big enough not to begrudge the muchacho any happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' over to town for a spell," explained Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Montoya nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm comin' back," Pete added, a bit embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +"Bueno. I shall be here." +</P> + +<P> +Pete, a bit flustered, did not quite catch the mild sarcasm, but he +breathed more freely when they were out of sight of camp. "He's sure a +white Mexican," he told Andy. "I kind o' hate to leave him, at that." +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't left him yet," suggested Andy with the blunt candor of youth. +</P> + +<P> +Pete pondered. Tucked under his arm were the two bobcat skins and the +coyote-hide. He would try to sell them to the storekeeper, Roth. All +told, he would then have about twenty dollars. That was quite a lot of +money—in Concho. +</P> + +<P> +Roth was closing shop when they entered town. He greeted Pete +heartily, remarked at his growth and invited him in. Pete introduced +Andy, quite unnecessarily, for Andy knew the storekeeper. Pete gazed +at the familiar shelves, boxes and barrels, the new saddles and rigs, +and in fact at everything in the store save the showcase which +contained the cheap watches, trinkets, and six-shooters. +</P> + +<P> +"I got a couple o' skins here," he said presently. "Mebby you could +buy 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's see 'em, Pete." +</P> + +<P> +Pete unfolded the stiff skins on the counter. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I'll give you two dollars for the lot. The cat-skins are all +right. The coyote ain't worth much." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I—I'm needin' the money right now," stammered Pete—"or +I'd give 'em to you." +</P> + +<P> +"How you making it?" queried Roth. +</P> + +<P> +"Fine! But I was thinkin' o' makin' a change. Sheep is all right—but +I'm sick o' the smell of 'em. Montoya is all right, too. It ain't +that." +</P> + +<P> +Roth gazed at the boy, wondering if he would say anything about the +six-gun. He liked Pete and yet he felt a little disappointed that Pete +should have taken him altogether for granted. +</P> + +<P> +"Montoya was in—yesterday," said Roth. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh? Said he was comin' over here. He's back in camp. Me and +Andy was lookin' for a Chola that wants to sell a hoss." +</P> + +<P> +"Mighty poor lot of cayuses round here, Pete. What you want with a +horse?" +</P> + +<P> +"'T ain't the hoss. It's the saddle an' bridle I'm after. If I were +to offer to buy a saddle an' bridle I'd git stuck jest as much for 'em +as I would if I was to buy the whole works. Might jest as well have +the hoss. I could trade him for a pair of chaps, mebby." +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to quit the sheep business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby—if I can git a job ridin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, good luck. I got to close up. Come over and see me before you +break camp." +</P> + +<P> +"I sure will! Thank you for the—for buyin' them hides." +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt relieved—and yet not satisfied. He had wanted to speak +about the six-shooter he had taken—but Andy was there, and, besides, +it was a hard subject to approach gracefully even under the most +favorable auspices. Perhaps, in the morning… +</P> + +<P> +"Come on over to Tony's Place and mebby we can run into a Mex that +wants to sell out," suggested Andy. +</P> + +<P> +Pete said good-night to Roth. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you boys get into trouble," laughed Roth, as they left. He had +not even hinted about the six-shooter. Pete thought that the +storekeeper was "sure white." +</P> + +<P> +The inevitable gaunt, ribby, dejected pony stood at the hitching-rail +of the saloon. Pete knew it at once for a Mexican's pony. No white +man would ride such a horse. The boys inspected the saddle, which was +not worth much, but they thought it would do. "We could steal 'im," +suggested Andy, laughing. "Then we could swipe the rig and turn the +cayuse loose." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment this idea appealed to Pete. He had a supreme contempt for +Mexicans. But suddenly he seemed to see himself surreptitiously taking +the six-shooter from Roth's showcase—and he recalled vividly how he +had felt at the time—"jest plumb mean," as he put it. Roth had been +mighty decent to him.… The Mexican, a wizened little man, +cross-eyed and wrinkled, stumbled from the saloon. +</P> + +<P> +"Want to sell your hoss?" Pete asked in Mexican. +</P> + +<P> +"Si! How much you give?" said the other, coming right to the point. +</P> + +<P> +"Ten dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"He is a good horse—very fast. He is worth much more. I sell him for +twenty dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Si." +</P> + +<P> +Andy White put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Say, Pete," he whispered, +"I know this hombre. The poor cuss ain't hardly got enough sense to +die. He comes into town reg'lar and gits drunk and he's got a whole +corral full of kids and a wife, over to the Flats. I'm game, but it's +kinda tough, takin' his hoss. It's about all he's got, exceptin' a +measly ole dog and a shack and the clothes on his back. That saddle +ain't worth much, anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +Pete thought it over. "It's his funeral," he said presently. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right—but dam' if I want to bury him." And Andy, the +sprightly, rolled a cigarette and eyed Pete, who stood pondering. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Pete turned to the Mexican. "I was only joshin' you, amigo. +You fork your cayuse and fan it for home." +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt that his chance of buying cheap equipment had gone +glimmering, but he was not unhappy. He gestured to Andy. Together +they strode across to the store and sat on the rough wood platform. +Pete kicked his heels and whistled a range tune. Andy smoked and +wondered what Pete had in mind. Suddenly Pete rose and pulled up his +belt. "Come on over to Roth's house," he said. "I want to see him." +</P> + +<P> +"He's turned in," suggested Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right. I got to see him." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm on! You're goin' to pay somethin' down on a rig, and git him to +let you take it on time. Great idee! Go to it!" +</P> + +<P> +"You got me wrong," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Roth had gone to bed, but he rose and answered the door when he heard +Pete's voice. "Kin I see you alone?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon so. Come right in." +</P> + +<P> +Pete blinked in the glare of the lamp, shuffled his feet as he slowly +counted out eighteen dollars and a half. "It's for the gun I took," he +explained. +</P> + +<P> +Roth hesitated, then took the money. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Pete. I'll give you a receipt. Just wait a minute." +</P> + +<P> +Pete gazed curiously at the crumpled bit of paper that Roth fetched +from the bedroom. "I took a gun an' cartriges for Wagges. You never +giv me Wages." +</P> + +<P> +Pete heaved a sigh. "I reckon we're square." +</P> + +<P> +Roth grinned. "Knowed you'd come back some day. Reckon you didn't +find a Mexican with a horse to sell, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep. But I changed my mind." +</P> + +<P> +"What made you change your mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I reckon I do. Now, see here, Pete. You been up against it +'most all your life. You ain't so bad off with old Montoya, but I sabe +how you feel about herding sheep. You want to get to riding. But +first you want to get a job. Now you go over to the Concho and tell +Bailey—'he's the foreman—that I sent you, and that if he'll give you +a job, I'll outfit you. You can take your time paying for it." +</P> + +<P> +Pete blinked and choked a little. "I ain't askin' nobody to <I>give</I> me +nothin'," he said brusquely. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you be. You're asking Bailey for a job. It's all right to ask +for something you mean to pay for, and you'll pay for your job by +workin'. That there rig you can pay for out of your wages. I was +always intending to do something for you—only you didn't stay. I +reckon I'm kind o' slow. 'Most everybody is in Concho. And seeing as +you come back and paid up like a man—I'm going to charge that gun up +against wages you earned when you was working for me, and credit you +with the eighteen-fifty on the new rig. Now you fan it back to Montoya +and tell him what you aim to do and then if you got time, come over +to-morrow and pick out your rig. You don't have to take it till you +get your job." +</P> + +<P> +Pete twisted his hat in his hands. He did not know what to say. +Slowly he backed from the room, turned, and strode out to Andy White. +Andy wondered what Pete had been up to, but waited for him to speak. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Pete cleared his throat. "I'm coming over to your wickiup +to-morrow and strike for a job. I got the promise of a rig, all right. +Don't want no second-hand rig, anyhow! I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder +River and I'm comin' with head up and tail a-rollin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Whoopee!" sang Andy, and swung to his pony. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a-comin'!" called Pete as Andy clattered away into the night. +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt happy and yet strangely subdued. The dim road flickered +before him as he trudged back to the sheep-camp. "Pop would 'a' done +it that way," he said aloud. And for a space, down the darkening road +he walked in that realm where the invisible walk, and beside him +trudged the great, rugged shape of Annersley, the spirit of the old man +who always "played square," feared no man, and fulfilled a purpose in +the immeasurable scheme of things. Pete knew that Annersley would have +been pleased. So it was that Young Pete paid the most honorable debt +of all, the debt to memory that the debtor's own free hand may pay or +not—and none be the wiser, save the debtor. Pete had "played square." +It was all the more to his credit that he hated like the dickens to +give up his eighteen dollars and a half, and yet had done so. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SOME BOOKKEEPING +</H3> + +<P> +While it is possible to approach the foreman of a cattle outfit on foot +and apply for work, it is—as a certain Ulysses of the outlands once +said—not considered good form in the best families in Arizona. Pete +was only too keenly conscious of this. There is a prestige recognized +by both employer and tentative employee in riding in, swinging to the +ground in that deliberate and easy fashion of the Western rider, and +sauntering up as though on a friendly visit wherein the weather and +grazing furnish themes for introduction, discussion, and the eventual +wedge that may open up the way to employment. The foreman knows by the +way you sit your horse, dismount, and generally handle yourself, just +where you stand in the scale of ability. He does not need to be told. +Nor does he care what you have been. Your saddle-tree is much more +significant than your family tree. Still, if you have graduated in +some Far Eastern riding academy, and are, perchance, ambitious to learn +the gentle art of roping, riding them as they come, and incidentally +preserving your anatomy as an undislocated whole, it is not a bad idea +to approach the foreman on foot and clothed in unpretentious garb. +For, as this same Ulysses of the outlands said: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Rub grease on your chaps and look wise if you will,<BR> +But the odor of tan-bark will cling round you still." +</P> + +<P> +This information alone is worth considerably more than twenty cents. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete, who had not slept much, arose and prepared breakfast, +making the coffee extra strong. Montoya liked strong coffee. After +breakfast Pete made a diagonal approach to the subject of leaving. +Could he go to Concho? Montoya nodded. Would it be all right if he +made a visit to the Concho outfit over on the mesa? It would be all +right. This was too easy. Pete squirmed internally. If Montoya would +only ask why he wanted to go. Did Montoya think he could get another +boy to help with the sheep? The old herder, who had a quiet sense of +humor, said he didn't need another boy: that Pete did very well. Young +Pete felt, as he expressed it to himself, "jest plumb mean." +Metaphorically he had thrown his rope three times and missed each time. +This time he made a wider loop. +</P> + +<P> +"What I'm gittin' at is, Roth over to Concho said last night if I was +to go over to Bailey—he's the fo'man of the Concho outfit—and ask him +for a job, I could mebby land one. Roth, he said he'd outfit me and +leave me to pay for it from my wages. Andy White, he's pluggin' for me +over to the ranch. I ain't said nothin' to you, for I wa'n't sure—but +Roth he says mebby I could git a job. I reckon I'm gettin' kind of +<I>old</I> to herd sheep." +</P> + +<P> +Montoya smiled. "Si; I am sixty years old." +</P> + +<P> +"I know—but—doggone it! I want to ride a hoss and go somewhere!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will pay you three dollars a week," said Montoya, and his eyes +twinkled. He was enjoying Pete's embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't the money. You sure been square. It ain't that. I reckon I +jest got to go." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it is that you go. I will find another to help. You have been a +good boy. You do not like the sheep—but the horses. I know that you +have been saving the money. You have not bought cartridges. I would +give you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on—you give me my money day before yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you have a little till you get your wages from the Concho. It is +good." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm broke all right," said Pete. "But that don't bother me none. +I paid Roth for that gun I swiped—" +</P> + +<P> +"You steal the gun?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it wa'n't jest <I>stealin'</I> it. Roth he never paid me no wages, +so when I lit out I took her along and writ him it was for wages." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why did you pay him?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete frowned. "I dunno." +</P> + +<P> +Montoya nodded. He stooped and fumbled in a pack. Pete wondered what +the old man was hunting for. +</P> + +<P> +Presently, Montoya drew out the hand-carved belt and holster, held it +up, and inspected it critically. He felt of it with his calloused +hands, and finally gestured to Pete. "It is for you, muchacho. I made +it. Stand so. There, it should hang this way." Montoya buckled the +belt around Pete and stepped back. "A little to the front. Bueno! +Tie the thong round your leg—so. That is well! It is the present +from José Montoya. Sometimes you will remember—" +</P> + +<P> +Montoya glanced at Pete's face. Pete was frowning prodigiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Hah!" laughed Montoya. "You do not like it, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete scowled and blinked. "It's the best doggone holster in the world! +I—I'm goin' to keep that there holster as long as I live! I—" +</P> + +<P> +Montoya patted Pete's shoulder. "With the sheep it is quiet, so!"—and +Montoya gestured to the band that grazed near by. "Where you will go +there will be the hard riding and the fighting, perhaps. It is not +good to kill a man. But it is not good to be killed. The hot +word—the quarrel—and some day a man will try to kill you. See! I +have left the holster open at the end. I have taught you that +trick—but do not tie the holster down if you would shoot that way. +There is no more to say." +</P> + +<P> +Pete thought so, so far as he was concerned. He was angry with himself +for having felt emotion and yet happy in that his break with Montoya +had terminated so pleasantly withal. "I'm goin' to town," he said, +"and git a boy to come out here. If I can't git a boy, I'll come back +and stay till you git one." +</P> + +<P> +Montoya nodded and strode out to where the sheep had drifted. The dogs +jumped up and welcomed him. It was not customary for their master to +leave them for so long alone with the flock. Their wagging tails and +general attitude expressed relief. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, topping the rise that hides the town of Concho from the northern +vistas, turned and looked back. Far below, on a slightly rounded knoll +stood the old herder, a solitary figure in the wide expanse of mesa and +morning sunlight. Pete swung his hat. Montoya raised his arm in a +gesture of good-will and farewell. Pete might have to come back, but +Montoya doubted it. He knew Pete. If there was anything that looked +like a boy available in Concho, Pete would induce that boy to take his +place with Montoya, if he had to resort to force to do so. +</P> + +<P> +Youth on the hilltop! Youth pausing to gaze back for a moment on a +pleasant vista of sunshine and long, lazy days—Pete brushed his arm +across his eyes. One of the dogs had left the sheep, and came frisking +toward the hill where Pete stood. Pete had never paid much attention +to the dogs, and was surprised that either of them should note his +going, at this time. "Mebby the doggone cuss knows that I'm quittin' +for good," he thought. The dog circled Pete and barked ingratiatingly. +Pete, touched by unexpected interest, squatted down and called the dog +to him. The sharp-muzzled, keen-eyed animal trotted up and nosed +Pete's hand. "You 're sure wise!" said Pete affectionately. Pete was +even more astonished to realize that it was the dog he had roped +recently. "Knowed I was only foolin'," said Pete, patting the dog's +head. The sheep-dog gazed up into Pete's face with bright, unblinking +eyes that questioned, "Why was Pete leaving camp early in the +morning—and without the burros?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm quittin' for good," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The dog's waving tail grew still. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right—honest!"—and Pete rose. +</P> + +<P> +The sheep-dog's quivering joy ceased at the word. His alertness +vanished. A veritable statue of dejection he stood as though pondering +the situation. Then he lifted his head and howled—the long, +lugubrious howl of the wolf that hungers. +</P> + +<P> +"You said it all," muttered Pete, turning swiftly and trudging down the +road. He would have liked to howl himself. Montoya's kindliness at +parting—and his gift—had touched Pete deeply, but he had fought his +emotion then, too proud to show it. Now he felt a hot something +spatter on his hand. His mouth quivered. "Doggone the dog!" he +exclaimed. "Doggone the whole doggone outfit!" And to cheat his +emotion he began to sing, in a ludicrous, choked way, that sprightly +and inimitable range ballad; +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'Way high up in the Mokiones, among the mountain-tops,<BR> +A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones and licked his thankful chops,<BR> +When who upon the scene should ride, a-trippin' down the slope," +</P> + +<P> +"Doggone the slope!" blurted Pete as he stubbed his toe on a rock. +</P> + +<P> +But when he reached Concho his eyes had cleared. Like all good +Americans he "turned a keen, untroubled face home to the instant need +of things," and after visiting Roth at the store, and though sorely +tempted to loiter and inspect saddlery, he set out to hunt up a +boy—for Montoya. +</P> + +<P> +None of the Mexican boys he approached cared to leave home. Things +looked pretty blue for Pete. The finding of the right boy meant his +own freedom. His contempt for the youth of Concho grew apace. The +Mexicans were a lazy lot, who either did not want to work or were loath +to leave home and follow the sheep. "Jest kids!" he remarked +contemptuously as his fifth attempt failed. "I could lick the whole +bunch!" +</P> + +<P> +Finally he located a half-grown youth who said he was willing to go. +Pete told him where to find Montoya and exacted a promise from the +youth to go at once and apply for the place. Pete hastened to the +store and immediately forgot time, place, and even the fact that he had +yet to get a job riding for the Concho outfit, in the eager joy of +choosing a saddle, bridle, blanket, spurs, boots and chaps, to say +nothing of a new Stetson and rope. The sum total of these unpaid-for +purchases rather staggered him. His eighteen-odd dollars was as a +fly-speck on the credit side of the ledger. He had chosen the best of +everything that Roth had in stock. A little figuring convinced him +that he would have to work several months before his outfit was paid +for. "If I git a job I'll give you an order for my wages," he told +Roth. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, Pete; I ain't worryin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Well—I be, some," said Pete. "Lemme see—fifty for the saddle, seven +for the bridle—-and she's some bridle!—and eighteen for the +chaps—fifteen for the boots—that's ninety dollars. Gee whizz! Then +there's four for that blanket and ten for them spurs. That's a hundred +and four. 'Course I <I>could</I> git along without a new lid. Rope is +three-fifty, and lid is ten. One hundred and seventeen dollars for +four bits. Guess I'll make it a hundred and twenty. No use botherin' +about small change. Gimme that pair of gloves." +</P> + +<P> +Roth had no hesitation in outfitting Pete. The Concho cattlemen traded +at his store. He had extended credit to many a rider whom he trusted +less than he did Pete. Moreover, he was fond of the boy and wanted to +see him placed where he could better himself. "I've got you on the +books for a hundred and twenty," he told Pete, and Pete felt very proud +and important. "Now, if I could borrow a hoss for a spell, I'd jest +fork him and ride over to see Bailey," he asserted. "I sure can't pack +this outfit over there." +</P> + +<P> +Roth grinned. "Well, we might as well let the tail go with the hide. +There's old Rowdy. He ain't much of a horse, but he's got three good +legs yet. He starched a little forward, but he'll make the trip over +and back. You can take him." +</P> + +<P> +"Honest?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead." +</P> + +<P> +Pete tingled with joyful anticipation as he strode from the store, his +new rope in his hand. He would rope that cayuse and just about burn +the ground for the Concho! Maybe he wouldn't make young Andy White sit +up! The Ridin' Kid from Powder River was walking on air when— +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you was goin' over to see Montoya!" he challenged as he saw +the Mexican youth, whom he had tentatively hired, sitting placidly on +the store veranda, employed solely in gazing at the road as though it +were a most interesting spectacle. "Oh, mañana," drawled the Mexican. +</P> + +<P> +"Mañana, nothin'!" volleyed Pete. "You're goin' now! Git a-movin'—if +you have to take your hands and lift your doggone feet off the ground. +Git a-goin'!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, maybe I go mañana." +</P> + +<P> +"You're dreamin', hombre." Pete was desperate. Again he saw his +chance of an immediate job go glimmering down the vague vistas of many +to-morrows. +</P> + +<P> +"See here! What kind of a guy are you, anyhow? I come in here +yesterday and offered you a job and you promised you'd git to work +right away. You—" +</P> + +<P> +"It was <I>to-day</I> you speak of Montoya," corrected the Mexican. +</P> + +<P> +"You're dreamin'," reiterated Pete. "It was <I>yesterday</I> you said you +would go mañana. Well, it's to-morrow, ain't it? You been asleep an' +don't know it." +</P> + +<P> +An expression of childish wonder crossed the Mexican youth's stolid +face. Of a certainty it was but this very morning that Montoya's boy +had spoken to him! Or was it yesterday morning? Montoya's boy had +said it was yesterday morning. It must be so. The youth rose and +gazed about him. Pete stood aggressively potent, frowning down on the +other's hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +"I go," said the Mexican. +</P> + +<P> +Pete heaved a sigh of relief. "A fella's got to know how to handle +'em," he told the immediate vicinity. And because Pete knew something +about "handlin' 'em," he did not at once go for the horse, but stood +staring after the Mexican, who had paused to glance back. Pete waved +his hand in a gesture which meant, "Keep goin'." The Mexican youth +kept going. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't wishin' old José any hard luck," muttered Pete, "but I said +I'd send a boy—and that there walkin' dream <I>looks</I> like one, anyhow. +'Oh, mañana!'" he snorted. "Mexicans is mostly figurin' out to-day +what they 're goin' to do to-morrow, and they never git through +figurin'. I dunno who my father and mother was, but I know one +thing—they wa'n't Mexicans." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ROWDY—AND BLUE SMOKE +</H3> + +<P> +It has been said that Necessity is the mother of Invention—well, it +goes without saying that the cowboy is the father, and Pete was closely +related to these progenitors of that most necessary adjunct of success. +Moreover, he could have boasted a coat of arms had he been at all +familiar with heraldry and obliged to declare himself. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-090"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-090.jpg" ALT="Pete." BORDER="2" WIDTH="388" HEIGHT="595"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Pete.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +A pinto cayuse rampant; a longhorn steer regardant; two sad-eyed, +unbranded calves couchant—one in each corner of the shield to kind of +balance her up; gules, several clumps of something representing +sagebrush; and possibly a rattlesnake coiled beneath the sagebrush and +described as "repellent" and holding in his open jaws a streaming motto +reading, "I'm a-comin'." +</P> + +<P> +Had it been essential that Pete's escutcheon should bear the bar +sinister, doubtless he would have explained its presence with the easy +assertion that the dark diagonal represented the vague ancestry of the +two sad-eyed calves couchant. Anybody could see that the calves were +part longhorn and part Hereford! +</P> + +<P> +Pete rode out of Concho glittering in his new-found glory of shining +bit and spur, wide-brimmed Stetson, and chaps studded with +nickel-plated conchas. The creak of the stiff saddle-leather was music +to him. His brand-new and really good equipment almost made up for the +horse—an ancient pensioner that never seemed to be just certain when +he would take his next step and seemed a trifle surprised when he had +taken it. He was old, amiable, and willing, internally, but his legs, +somewhat of the Chippendale order, had seen better days. Ease and good +feeding had failed to fill him out. He was past taking on flesh. Roth +kept him about the place for short trips. Roth's lively team of pintos +were at the time grazing in a distant summer pasture. +</P> + +<P> +Rowdy—the horse—seemed to feel that the occasion demanded something +of him. He pricked his ears as they crossed the cañon bottom and +breasted the ascent as bravely as his three good legs would let him. +At the top he puffed hard. Despite Pete's urging, he stood stolidly +until he had gathered enough ozone to propel him farther. "Git along, +you doggone ole cockroach!" said Pete. But Rowdy was firm. He turned +his head and gazed sadly at his rider with one mournful eye that said +plainly, "I'm doing my level best." Pete realized that the ground just +traveled was anything but level, and curbed his impatience. "I'll jest +kind o' save him for the finish," he told himself. "Then I'll hook the +spurs into him and ride in a-boilin'. Don't care what he does after +that. He can set down and rest if he wants to. Git along, old +soap-foot," he cried—"soap-foot" possibly because Rowdy occasionally +slipped. His antique legs didn't always do just what he wanted them to +do. +</P> + +<P> +Topping the mesa edge, Pete saw the distant green that fringed the +Concho home-ranch, topped by a curl of smoke that drifted lazily across +the gold of the morning. Without urging, Rowdy broke into a stiff +trot, that sounded Pete's inmost depths, despite his natural good seat +in the saddle. "Quit it!" cried Pete presently. "You'll be goin' on +crutches afore night if you keep that up.—And so'll I," he added. +Rowdy immediately stopped and turned his mournful eye on Pete. +</P> + +<P> +If the trot had been the rhythmic <I>one, two, three, four</I>, Pete could +have ridden and rolled cigarettes without spilling a flake of tobacco; +but the trot was a sort of <I>one, two—almost three</I>, then, whump! +<I>three</I> and a quick <I>four</I>, and so on, a decidedly irregular meter in +Pete's lyrical journey toward new fields and fairer fortune. "I'll +sure make Andy sit up!" he declared as the Concho buildings loomed +beneath the cool, dark-green outline of the trees. He dismounted to +open and close a gate. A half-mile farther he again dismounted to open +and close another gate. From there on was a straightaway road to the +ranch-buildings. Pete gathered himself together, pushed his hat down +firmly—it was new and stiff—and put Rowdy to a high lope. This was +something like it! Possibly Rowdy anticipated a good rest, and hay. +In any event, he did his best, rounding into the yard and up to the +house like a true cow-pony. All would have been well, as Pete realized +later, had it not been for the pup. The pup saw in Rowdy a new +playfellow, and charged from the door-step just as that good steed was +mentally preparing to come to a stop. The pup was not mentally +prepared in any way, and in his excitement he overshot the mark. He +caromed into Rowdy's one recalcitrant leg—it usually happens that +way—and Rowdy stepped on him. Pete was also not mentally prepared to +dismount at the moment, but he did so as Rowdy crashed down in a cloud +of dust. The pup, who imagined himself killed, shrieked shrilly and +ran as hard as he could to the distant stables to find out if it were +not so. +</P> + +<P> +Pete picked up his hat. Rowdy scrambled up and shook himself. Pete +was mad. Over on the edge of the bunk-house veranda sat four or five +of the Concho boys. They rocked back and forth and slapped their legs +and shouted. It was a trying situation. +</P> + +<P> +The foreman, Bailey, rose as Pete limped up. "We're livin' over here," +said Bailey. "Did you want to see some one?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete wet his lips. "The fo'man. I—I—jest rid over to see how you +was makin' it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, we 're doin' right fair. How you makin' it yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm here," said Pete succinctly and without a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"So we noticed," said the foreman mildly, too mildly, for one of the +punchers began to laugh, and the rest joined in. +</P> + +<P> +"Wisht I had a hoss like that," said a cowboy. "Always did hate to +climb offen a hoss. I like to have 'em set down and kind o' let me +step off easy-like." +</P> + +<P> +Pete sorely wanted to make a sharp retort, but he had learned the +wisdom of silence. He knew that he had made himself ridiculous before +these men. It would be hard to live down this thing. He deemed +himself sadly out of luck, but he never lost sight of the main chance +for an instant. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey, through young Andy White, knew of Pete and was studying him. +The boy had self-possession, and he had not cursed the horse for +stumbling. He saw that Pete was making a fight to keep his temper. +</P> + +<P> +"You lookin' for work?" he said kindly. +</P> + +<P> +"I was headed that way," replied Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you rope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, some. I kin keep from tanglin' my feet in a rope when it's +hangin' on the horn and I'm standin' off a piece." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, things are slack right now. Don't know as I could use you. +What's your name, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm Pete Annersley. I reckon you know who my pop was." +</P> + +<P> +Bailey nodded. "The T-Bar-T," he said, turning toward the men. They +shook their heads and were silent, gazing curiously at the boy, of whom +it was said that he had "bumped off" two T-Bar-T boys in a raid some +years ago. Young Pete felt his ground firmer beneath him. The men had +ceased laughing. If it had not been for that unfortunate stumble… +</P> + +<P> +"You're sportin' a right good rig," said the foreman. +</P> + +<P> +"I aim to," said Pete quickly. "If I hadn't gone broke buyin' it, I'd +ride up here on a real hoss." +</P> + +<P> +"Things are pretty slack right now," said Bailey. "Glad to see +you—but they won't be nothin' doin' till fall. Won't you set down? +We're goin' to eat right soon." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks. I ain't a-missin' a chanct to eat. And I reckon ole Rowdy +there could do somethin' in that line hisself." +</P> + +<P> +Bailey smiled. "Turn your horse into the corral. Better pack your +saddle over here. That pup will chew them new latigos if he gets near +it." +</P> + +<P> +"That doggone pup come mighty nigh bustin' me,"—and Pete smiled for +the first time since arriving. "But the pup was havin' a good time, +anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +"Say, I want to shake with you!" said a big puncher, rising and +sticking out a strong, hairy hand. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's face expressed surprise. "Why—sure!" he stammered, not +realizing that his smiling reference to the pup had won him a friend. +</P> + +<P> +"He's sure a hard-boiled kid," said one of the men as Pete unsaddled +and led Rowdy to the corral. "Did you catch his eye? Black—and +shinin'; plumb full of deviltry—down in deep. That kid's had to hit +some hard spots afore he growed to where he is." +</P> + +<P> +"And he can take his medicine," asserted another cowboy. "He was mad +enough to kill that hoss and the bunch of us—but he held her down and +bellied up to us like a real one. Looks like he had kind of a Injun +streak in him." +</P> + +<P> +Bailey nodded. "Wish I had a job for the kid. He would make good. +He's been driftin' round the country with old man Montoya for a couple +of years. Old man Annersley picked him up down to Concho. The kid was +with a horse-trader. He would have been all right with Annersley, but +you boys know what happened. This ain't no orphan asylum, but—well, +anyhow—did you size up the rig he's sportin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some rig." +</P> + +<P> +"And he says he went broke to buy her." +</P> + +<P> +"Some kid." +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to string him along?" queried another cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope," replied Bailey. "The pup strung him plenty. Mebby we'll give +him a whirl at a real horse after dinner. He's itchin' to climb a real +one and show us, and likewise to break in that new rig." +</P> + +<P> +"Or git busted," suggested one of the men. +</P> + +<P> +"By his eye, I'd say he'll stick," said Bailey. "Don't you boys go to +raggin' him too strong about ridin', for I ain't aimin' to kill the +kid. If he can stick on Blue Smoke, I've a good mind to give him a +job. I told Andy to tell him there wa'n't no chanct up here—but the +kid comes to look-see for hisself. I kind o' like that." +</P> + +<P> +"You 're gettin' soft in your haid, Bud," said a cowboy affectionately. +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby, but I don't have to put cotton in my ears to keep my brains +in," Bailey retorted mildly. +</P> + +<P> +The cowboy who had spoken was suffering from earache and had an ear +plugged with cotton. +</P> + +<P> +Pete swaggered up and sat down. "Who's ridin' that blue out there?" he +queried, gesturing toward the corral. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a pet," said Bailey. Nobody rides him." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. Well, I reckon the man who tries 'll be one of ole Abraham's +pets right off soon after," commented Pete. "He don't look good to me." +</P> + +<P> +"You sabe 'em?" queried Bailey and winked at a companion. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope," replied Pete. "I can't tell a hoss from a hitchin'-rail, 'less +he kicks me." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Blue Smoke ain't a hitchin'-rail," asserted Bailey. "What do +you say if we go over and tell the missis we're starvin' to death?" +</P> + +<P> +"Send Pete over," suggested a cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey liked a joke. As he had said, things were dull, just then. +"Lope over and tell my missis we're settin' out here starvin' to +death," he suggested to Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Pete strode to the house and entered, hat in hand. The foreman's wife, +a plump, cheery woman, liked nothing better than to joke with the men. +Presently Pete came out bearing the half of a large, thick, juicy pie +in his hands. He marched to the bunkhouse and sat down near the +men—but not too near. He ate pie and said nothing. When he had +finished the pie, he rolled a cigarette and smoked, in huge content. +The cowboys glanced at one another and grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Bailey presently; "what's the answer?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete grinned. "Misses Bailey says to tell you fellas to keep on +starvin' to death. It'll save cookin'." +</P> + +<P> +"I move that we get one square before we cross over," said Bailey, +rising. "Come on, boys. I can smell twelve o'clock comin' from the +kitchen." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"TURN HIM LOOSE!" +</H3> + +<P> +Blue Smoke was one of those unfortunate animals known as an outlaw. He +was a blue roan with a black stripe down his back, a tough, strong +pony, with a white-rimmed eye as uncompromising as the muzzle of a +cocked gun. He was of no special use as a cow-pony and was kept about +the ranch merely because he happened to belong to the Concho caviayard. +It took a wise horse and two good men to get a saddle on him when some +aspiring newcomer intimated that he could ride anything with hair on +it. He was the inevitable test of the new man. No one as yet had +ridden him to a finish; nor was it expected. The man who could stand a +brief ten seconds' punishment astride of the outlaw was considered a +pretty fair rider. It was customary to time the performance, as one +would time a race, but in the instance of riding Blue Smoke the man was +timed rather than the horse. So far, Bailey himself held the record. +He had stayed with the outlaw fifteen seconds. +</P> + +<P> +Pete learned this, and much more, about Blue Smoke's disposition while +the men ate and joked with Mrs. Bailey. And Mrs. Bailey, good woman, +was no less eloquent than the men in describing the outlaw's unenviable +temperament, never dreaming that the men would allow a boy of Pete's +years to ride the horse. Pete, a bit embarrassed in this lively +company, attended heartily to his plate. He gathered, indirectly, that +he was expected to demonstrate his ability as a rider, sooner or later. +He hoped that it would be later. +</P> + +<P> +After dinner the men loafed out and gravitated lazily toward the +corral, where they stood eying the horses and commenting on this and +that pony. Pete had eyes for no horse but Blue Smoke. He admitted to +himself that he did not want to ride that horse. He knew that his rise +would be sudden and that his fall would be great. Still, he sported +the habiliments of a full-fledged buckaroo, and he would have to live +up to them. A man who could not sit the hurricane-deck of a pitching +horse was of little use to the ranch. In the busy season each man +caught up his string of ponies and rode them as he needed them. There +was neither time nor disposition to choose. +</P> + +<P> +Pete wished that Blue Smoke had a little more of Rowdy's equable +disposition. It was typical of Pete, however, that he absolutely hated +to leave an unpleasant task to an indefinite future. Moreover, he +rather liked the Concho boys and the foreman. He wanted to ride with +them. That was the main thing. Any hesitancy he had in regard to +riding the outlaw was the outcome of discretion rather than of fear. +Bailey had said there was no work for him. Pete felt that he had +rather risk his neck a dozen times than to return to the town of Concho +and tell Roth that he had been unsuccessful in getting work. Yet Pete +did not forget his shrewdness. He would bargain with the foreman. +</P> + +<P> +"How long kin a fella stick on that there Blue Smoke hoss?" he queried +presently. +</P> + +<P> +"Depends on the man," said Bailey, grinning. +</P> + +<P> +"Bailey here stayed with him fifteen seconds onct," said a cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +Pete pushed hack his hat. "Well, I ain't no bronco-twister, but I +reckon I could ride him a couple o' jumps. Who's keepin' time on the +dog-gone cayuse?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anybody that's got a watch," replied Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +Pete hitched up his chaps. "I got a watch and I'd hate to bust her. +If you'll hold her till I git through"—and he handed the watch to the +nearest cowboy. "If you'll throw my saddle on 'im, I reckon I'll walk +him round a little and see what kind of action he's got." +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks!" exclaimed Bailey; "that hoss would jest nacherally pitch you +so high you wouldn't git back in time for the fall round-up, kid. He's +bad." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you said they wa'n't no job till fall, anyhow," said Pete. +"Mebby I'd git back in time for a job." +</P> + +<P> +Bailey shook his head. "I was joshin'—this mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +"'Bout my ridin' that hoss? Well, I ain't. I'm kind of a stranger up +here, and I reckon you fellas think, because that doggone ole soap-foot +fell down with me, that I can't ride 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, mebby some of 'em," laughed Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's black eyes flashed. To him the matter was anything but a joke. +"You give me a job if I stick on that hoss for fifteen seconds? Why, +I'm game to crawl him and see who wins out. If I git pitched, I lose. +And I'm taking all the chances." +</P> + +<P> +"Throw a saddle on him and give the kid a chanct," suggested a cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey turned and looked at Pete, whose eyes were alight with the hope +of winning out—not for the sake of any brief glory, Pete's compressed +lips denied that, but for the sake of demonstrating his ability to hold +down a job on the ranch. +</P> + +<P> +"Rope him, Monte," said Bailey. "Take the sorrel. I'll throw the +kid's saddle on him." +</P> + +<P> +"Do I git the job if I stick?" queried Pete nervously. +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby," said Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +Now Pete's watch was a long-suffering dollar watch that went when it +wanted to and ceased to go when it felt like resting. At present the +watch was on furlough and had been for several days. A good shake +would start it going—and once started it seemed anxious to make up for +lost time by racing at a delirious pace that ignored the sun, the +stars, and all that makes the deliberate progress of the hours. If +Pete could arrange it so that his riding could be timed by his own +watch, he thought he could win, with something to spare. After a wild +battle with the punchers, Blue Smoke was saddled with Pete's saddle. +He still fought the men. There was no time for discussion if Pete +intended to ride. +</P> + +<P> +"Go to 'im!" cried Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +Pete hitched up his chaps and crawled over the bars. "Jest time him +for me," said Pete, turning to the cowboy who held his watch. +</P> + +<P> +The cowboy glanced at the watch, put it to his ear, then glanced at it +again. "The durn thing's stopped!" he asserted. +</P> + +<P> +"Shake her," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Pete slipped into the saddle. "Turn 'im loose!" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +The men jumped back. Blue Smoke lunged and went at it. Pete gritted +his teeth and hung to the rope. The corral revolved and the buildings +teetered drunkenly. Blue Smoke was not a running bucker, but did his +pitching in a small area—and viciously. Pete's head snapped back and +forth. He lost all sense of time, direction, and place. He was jolted +and jarred by a grunting cyclone that flung him up and sideways, met +him coming down and racked every muscle in his body. Pete dully hoped +that it would soon be over. He was bleeding at the nose. His neck +felt as though it had been broken. He wanted to let go and fall. +Anything was better than this terrible punishment. +</P> + +<P> +He heard shouting, and then a woman's shrill voice. Blue Smoke gave a +quick pitch and twist. Pete felt something crash up against him. +Suddenly it was night. All motion had ceased. +</P> + +<P> +When he came to, Mrs. Bailey was kneeling beside him and ringed around +were the curious faces of the cowboys. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River," muttered Pete. "Did I make it?" +</P> + +<P> +"That horse liked to killed you," said Mrs. Bailey. "If I'd 'a' knew +the boys was up to this … and him just a boy! Jim Bailey, you +ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Ma Bailey wiped Pete's face with her +apron and put her motherly arm beneath his head. "If he was my boy, +Jim Bailey, I'd—I'd—show you!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete raised on his elbow. "I'm all right, mam. It wa'n't his fault. +I said I could ride that hoss. Did I make it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Accordin' to your watch here," said the puncher who held Pete's +irresponsible timepiece, "you rid him for four hours and sixteen +minutes. The hands was a-fannin' it round like a windmill in a +cyclone. But she's quit, now." +</P> + +<P> +"Do I git the job?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"You get right to bed! It's a wonder every bone in your body ain't +broke!" exclaimed Ma Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +"Bed!" snorted Pete. He rose stiffly. His hat was gone and one spur +was missing. His legs felt heavy. His neck ached; but his black eyes +were bright and blinking. +</P> + +<P> +"Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Bailey. "Why, the boy is comin' to all +right!" +</P> + +<P> +"You bet!" said Pete, grinning, although he felt far from all right. +He realized that he rather owed Mrs. Bailey something in the way of an +expression of gratitude for her interest. "I—you, you sure can make +the best pie ever turned loose!" he asserted. +</P> + +<P> +"Pie!" gasped the foreman's wife, "and him almost killed by that blue +devil there! You come right in the house, wash your face, and I'll fix +you up." +</P> + +<P> +"The kid's all right, mother," said Bailey placatingly. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bailey turned on her husband. "That's not your fault, Jim Bailey. +Such goin's-on! You great, lazy hulk, you, to go set a boy to ridin' +that hoss that you dassent ride yourself. If he was my boy—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm willin'," said Pete, who began to realize the power behind +the throne. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless his heart!" Mrs. Bailey put her arm about his shoulders. Pete +was mightily embarrassed. No woman had ever caressed him, so far as he +could remember. The men would sure think him a softy, to allow all +this strange mothering; but he could not help himself. Evidently the +foreman's wife was a power in the land, for the men had taken her +berating silently and respectfully. But before they reached the house +Pete was only too glad to feel Mrs. Bailey's arm round his shoulders, +for the ground seemed unnecessarily uneven, and the trees had a strange +way of rocking back and forth, although there was no wind. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bailey insisted that he lie down, and she spread a blanket on her +own white bed. Pete did not want to lie down. But Mrs. Bailey +insisted, helping him to unbuckle his chaps and even to pull off his +boots. The bed felt soft and comfortable to his aching body. The room +was darkened. Mrs. Bailey tiptoed through the doorway. Pete gazed +drowsily at a flaming lithograph on the wall; a basket of fruit such as +was never known on land or sea, placed on a highly polished table such +as was never made by human hands. The colors of the chromo grew dimmer +and dimmer. Pete sighed and fell asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bailey, like most folk in that locality, knew something of Pete's +earlier life. Rumor had it that Pete was a bad one—a tough kid—that +he had even killed two cowboys of the T-Bar-T. Mrs. Bailey had never +seen Pete until that morning. Yet she immediately formed her own +opinion of him, intuition guiding her aright. Young Pete was simply +unfortunate—not vicious. She could see that at a glance. And he was +a manly youngster with a quick, direct eye. He had come to the Concho +looking for work. The men had played their usual pranks, fortunately +with no serious consequences. But Bailey should have known better, and +she told him so that afternoon in the kitchen, while Pete slumbered +blissfully in the next room. "And he can help around the place, even +if it is slack times," she concluded. +</P> + +<P> +That evening was one of the happiest evenings of Pete's life. He had +never known the tender solicitude of a woman. Mrs. Bailey treated him +as a sort of semi-invalid, waiting on him, silencing the men's +good-natured joshing with her sharp tongue, feeding him canned +peaches—a rare treat—and finally enthroning him in her own ample +rocking-chair, somewhat to Pete's embarrassment, and much to the +amusement of the men. +</P> + +<P> +"He sure can ride it!" said a cowboy, indicating the rocking-chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Bill Haskins, you need a shave!" said Mrs. Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +The aforesaid Bill Haskins, unable to see any connection between his +remark and the condition of his beard, stared from one to another of +his blank-faced companions, grew red, stammered, and felt of his chin. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I do," he said weakly, and rising he plodded to the +bunk-house. +</P> + +<P> +"And if you want to smoke," said Mrs. Bailey, indicating another of the +boys who had just rolled and lighted a cigarette, "there's all outdoors +to do it in." +</P> + +<P> +This puncher also grew red, rose, and sauntered out. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey and the two remaining cowboys shuffled their feet, wondering who +would be the next to suffer the slings and arrows of Ma Bailey's +indignation. <I>They</I> considered the Blue Smoke episode closed. +Evidently Ma Bailey did not. Bailey himself wisely suggested that they +go over to the bunk-house. It would be cooler there. The cowboys rose +promptly and departed. But they were cowboys and not to be silenced so +easily. +</P> + +<P> +They loved Ma Bailey and they dearly loved to tease her. Strong, +rugged, and used to activity, they could not be quiet long. Mrs. +Bailey hitched a chair close to Pete and had learned much of his early +history—for Pete felt that the least he could do was to answer her +kindly questions—and he, in turn, had been feeling quite at home in +her evident sympathy, when an unearthly yell shattered the quiet of the +summer evening. More yells—and a voice from the darkness stated that +some one was hurt bad; to bring a light. Groans, heartrending and +hoarse, punctuated the succeeding silence. "It's Jim," the voice +asserted. "Guess his leg's bruk." +</P> + +<P> +The groaning continued. Mrs. Bailey rose and seized the lamp. Pete +got up stiffly and followed her out. One of the men was down on all +fours, jumping about in ludicrous imitation of a bucking horse; and +another was astride him, beating him not too gently with a quirt. As +Ma Bailey came in sight the other cowboys swung their hats and shouted +encouragement to the rider. Bailey was not visible. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay with 'im!" cried one. "Rake 'im! He's gittin' played out! Look +out! He's goin' to sunfish! Bust 'im wide open!" +</P> + +<P> +It was a huge parody of the afternoon performance, staged for Ma +Bailey's special benefit. Suddenly the cowboy who represented Blue +Smoke made an astounding buck and his rider bit the dust. +</P> + +<P> +Ma Bailey held the lamp aloft and gazed sternly at the two sweating, +puffing cowboys. "Where's Bailey?" she queried sharply. +</P> + +<P> +One of the men stepped forward and doffing his hat assumed an attitude +of profound gravity. "Blue there, he done pitched your husband, mam, +and broke his leg. Your husband done loped off on three laigs, to git +the doctor to fix it." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me catch sight of him and I'll fix it!" she snorted. "Jim, if +you're hidin' in that bunk-house you come out here—and behave +yourself. Lord knows you are old enough to know better." +</P> + +<P> +"That's right, mam. Jim is sure old enough to know better 'n to behave +hisself. You feed us so plumb good, mam, that we jest can't set still +nohow. I reckon it was the pie that done it. Reckon them dried apples +kind of turned to cider." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bailey swung around with all the dignity of a liner leaving +harbor, and headed for the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Is she gone?" came in a hoarse whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"You come near this house to-night and you'll find out!" Mrs. Bailey +advised from the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the hay for yours, Jim," comforted a cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +Pete hesitated as to which course were better. Finally he decided to +"throw in" with the men. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey lighted the hanging lamp in the bunk-house, and the boys +shuffled in, grinning sheepishly. "You're sure a he-widder to-night," +said Bill Haskins sympathetically. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey grinned. His good wife was used to such pranks. In fact the +altogether unexpected and amusing carryings on of the boys did much +toward lightening the monotony when times were dull, as they were just +then. Had the boys ceased to cut up for any length of time, Ma Bailey +would have thought them ill and would have doctored them accordingly. +</P> + +<P> +Pete became interested in watching Bill Haskins endeavor to shave +himself with cold water by the light of the hanging lamp. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Pete's attention was diverted to the cowboy whom Mrs. Bailey +had sent outdoors to smoke. He had fished up from somewhere a piece of +cardboard and a blue pencil. He was diligently lettering a sign which +he eventually showed to his companions with no little pride. It read: +</P> + +<P> +"NO SMOKING ALOUD." +</P> + +<P> +Pete did not see the joke, but he laughed heartily with the rest. The +laughter had just about subsided when a voice came from across the way: +"Jim, you come right straight to bed!" +</P> + +<P> +Bailey indicated a bunk for Pete and stepped from the bunk-house. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the boys heard Mrs. Bailey's voice. "Good-night, boys." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night, Ma!" they chorused heartily. +</P> + +<P> +And "Good-night, Pete," came from the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night, Ma!" shrilled Pete, blushing. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm plumb sore!" asserted Haskins. "'Good-night, boys,' is good +enough for us. But did you hear what come after! I kin see who gits +all the extra pie around this here ranch! I've half a mind to quit." +</P> + +<P> +"What—eatin' pie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope! Joshin' Ma. She allus gits the best of us." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +POP ANNERSLEY'S BOY +</H3> + +<P> +Several days after Pete's arrival at the Concho ranch, Andy White rode +in with a companion, dusty, tired, and hungry from a sojourn over near +the Apache line. White made his report to the foreman, unsaddled, and +was washing with a great deal of splutter and elbow-motion, when some +one slapped him on the back. He turned a dripping face to behold Pete +grinning at him. +</P> + +<P> +Andy's eyes lighted with pleasure. He stuck out a wet hand. "Did you +land a job?" +</P> + +<P> +"With both feet." +</P> + +<P> +"Good! I was so darned tired I clean forgot you was livin'. Say, I +saw ole José this afternoon. We was crossin' the bottom and rode into +his camp. He said you had quit him. I asked him if you come up here, +but he only shook his head and handed me the usual 'Quien sabe?' He'll +never git a sore throat from talkin' too much. Say, wait till I git +some of this here alkali out of my ears and we'll go and eat and then +have a smoke and talk it out. Gee! But I'm glad you landed! How'd +you work it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Easy. I rid that there Blue Smoke hoss—give 'em an exhibition of +real ridin' and the fo'man sure fell for my style." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. What kind of a fall did <I>you</I> make?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I wasn't in shape to know—till I come to. The fellas said I +done all right till ole Smoke done that little double twist and left me +standin' in the air—only with my feet up. I ain't jest lovin' that +hoss a whole lot." +</P> + +<P> +Andy nodded sagely. "I tried him onct. So Bailey give you a job, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Kind of a job. Mostly peelin' potatoes and helpin' round the house. +Ma Bailey says I'm worth any two of the men helpin' round the house. +And I found out one thing—what Ma Bailey says round here goes." +</P> + +<P> +"You bet! She's the boss. If Ma don't like a guy, he don't work long +for the Concho. I recollect when Steve Gary quit over the T-Bar-T and +come over here lookin' for a job. Ma she sized him up, but didn't say +nothin' right away. But Gary he didn't stay long enough to git a +saddle warm. Ma didn't like him, nohow. He sure was a top-hand—but +that didn't help him none. He's over to the T-Bar-T now. Seen him the +other day. He's got some kind of a drag there, for they took him back. +Folks says—say, what's bitin' you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'. You said Gary?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was jest thinkin'." +</P> + +<P> +Young Andy dried his face on the community towel, emptied the basin +with a flourish which drenched the pup and sent him yelping toward the +house, attempted to shy the basin so that it would land right-side up +on the bench—but the basin was wet and soapy and slipped. It sailed +through the door of the bunk-house and caromed off Bill Haskins's head. +Andy saw what had happened and, seizing Pete's arm, rushed him across +the clearing and into the house, where he grabbed Ma Bailey and kissed +her heartily, scrambled backward as she pretended to threaten him with +the mammoth coffee-pot, and sat down at the table with the remark that +he was "powerful tired." +</P> + +<P> +"You act like it," scoffed Mrs. Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +Bill Haskins, with a face like black thunder, clumped in and asked Mrs. +Bailey if she had any "stickin'-plaster." +</P> + +<P> +"Cut you, Bill?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bad!" said Bill, exhibiting a cut above the ear—the result of Andy's +basin-throwing. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you go 'long!" said Mrs. Bailey, pushing him away. "Askin' for +stickin'-plaster for a scratch like that!" +</P> + +<P> +Bill Haskins growled and grumbled as he took his place at the table. +He kept shaking his head like a dog with a sore ear, vowing that if he +found out "who thrun that basin" there would be an empty chair at the +Concho board before many days had passed. +</P> + +<P> +Andy White glanced at Pete and snickered. Bill Haskins glowered and +felt of his head. "Liked to skelp me," he asserted. "Ma, I jest ask +you what you would do now, if you was settin' peaceful in the +bunk-house pawin' over your war-bag, lookin' for a clean shirt, and all +of a sudden <I>whing</I>! along comes a warsh-basin and takes you right over +the ear. Wouldn't you feel like killin' somebody?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lookin' for a clean shirt!" whispered Andy to Pete. "Did you git +that?" +</P> + +<P> +Bill "got" it—and flushed amazingly. "I was meanin' a clean—clean +dress, Mrs. Bailey. A clean dress or stockin's, mebby." +</P> + +<P> +"Bill was lookin' for a clean dress," snickered Andy. Pete grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"Bill, I reckon it ain't your ear that needs that sticking-plaster. A +clean shirt, indeed! I'm surprised at you, William." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee, Ma called him Willum!" whispered Andy. "Bill better fade." +</P> + +<P> +The men tramped in, nodded to Mrs. Bailey, and sat down. Eating was a +serious matter with them. They said little. It was toward the end of +the meal, during a lull in the clatter of knives and forks, that Andy +White suggested, <I>sotto voce</I>, but intended for the assemblage, "That +Bill always was scared of a wash-basin." This gentle innuendo was lost +on the men, but Bill Haskins vowed mighty vengeance. +</P> + +<P> +It was evident from the start that Pete and Andy would run in double +harness. They were the youngsters of the outfit, liked each other, and +as the months went by became known—Ma Bailey had read the book—as +"The Heavenly Twins." Bailey asked his good wife why "heavenly." He +averred that "twins was all right—but as for 'heavenly'—" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "I'm callin' 'em 'heavenly,' Jim, to kind of +even up for what the boys call 'em. I don't use that kind of language." +</P> + +<P> +Pete graduated from peeling potatoes and helping about the house to +riding line with young Andy, until the fall round-up called for all +hands, the loading of the chuck-wagon and a farewell to the lazy days +at the home ranch. The air was keen with the tang of autumn. The +hillside blue of spruce and pine was splashed here and there with the +rich gold of the quaking asp. Far vistas grew clearer as the haze of +summer heat waned and fled before the stealthy harbingers of winter. +In the lower levels of the distant desert, heat waves still pulsed +above the grayish brown reaches of sand and brush—but the desert was +fifty, sixty, eighty miles away, spoken of as "down there" by the +riders of the high country. And Young Pete, detailed to help "gather" +in some of the most rugged timberland of the Blue, would not have +changed places with any man. He had been allotted a string of ponies, +placed under the supervision of an old hand, entered on the pay-roll at +the nominal salary of thirty dollars a month, and turned out to do his +share in the big round-up, wherein riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue, +the Eight-O-Eight, and the Concho rode with a loose rein and a quick +spur, gathering and bunching the large herds over the high country. +</P> + +<P> +There was a fly in Pete's coffee, however. Young Andy White had been +detailed to ride another section of the country. Bailey had wisely +separated these young hopefuls, fearing that competition—for they were +always striving to outdo each other—might lead to a hard fall for one +or both. Moreover, they were always up to some mischief or other—Andy +working the schemes that Pete usually invented for the occasion. Up to +the time that he arrived at the Concho ranch, Young Pete had never +known the joy of good-natured, rough-and-tumble horseplay, that +wholesome diversion that tries a man out, and either rubs off the +ragged edges of his temper or marks him as an undesirable and +to-be-let-alone. Pete, while possessing a workable sense of humor, was +intense—somewhat quick on the trigger, so to speak. The frequent +roughings he experienced served to steady him, and also taught him to +distinguish the tentative line between good-natured banter and the +veiled insult. +</P> + +<P> +Unconsciously he studied his fellows, until he thought he pretty well +knew their peculiarities and preferences. Unrealized by Pete, and by +themselves, this set him apart from them. They never studied him, but +took him for just what he seemed—a bright, quick, and withal +industrious youngster, rather quiet at times, but never sullen. +Bailey, whose business it was to know and handle men, confided to his +wife that he did not quite understand Pete. And Mrs. Bailey, who was +really fond of Pete, was consistently feminine when she averred that it +wasn't necessary to understand him so long as he attended to his work +and behaved himself, which was Mrs. Bailey's way of dodging the issue. +She did not understand Pete herself. "He does a heap of thinking—for +a boy," she told Bailey. "He's got something' besides cattle on his +mind," Bailey asserted. Mrs. Bailey had closed the question for the +time being with the rather vague assertion, "I should hope so." +</P> + +<P> +The first real inkling that Andy White had of Pete's deeper nature was +occasioned by an incident during the round-up. +</P> + +<P> +The cutting-out and branding were about over. The Concho men, camped +round their wagon, were fraternizing with visitors from the Blue and +T-Bar-T. Every kind of gossip was afloat. The Government was going to +make a game preserve of the Blue Range. Old man Dobson, of the +Eight-O-Eight, had fired one of his men for packing whiskey into the +camp: "Dobson was drunk hisself!" was asserted. One sprightly and +inventive son-of-saddle-leather had brought a pair of horse-clippers to +the round-up. Every suffering puncher in the outfit had been thrown +and clipped, including the foreman, and even the cattle inspector. +Rumor had it that the boys from the Blue intended to widen their scope +of operation and clip everybody. The "gentleman [described in the +vernacular] who started to clip my [also described] head'll think he's +tackled a tree-kitty," stated a husky cowboy from the T-Bar-T. +</P> + +<P> +Old Montoya's name was mentioned by another rider from the T-Bar-T. +Andy who was lying beside Pete, just within the circle of firelight, +nudged him. +</P> + +<P> +"We run every nester out of this country; and it's about time we +started in on the sheep," said this individual, and he spoke not +jestingly, but with a vicious meaning in his voice, that silenced the +talk. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey was there and Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, Bud Long, foreman of +the Blue, and possibly some fifteen or eighteen visiting cowboys. The +strident ill-nature of the speaker challenged argument, but the boys +were in good-humor. +</P> + +<P> +"What you pickin' on Montoya for?" queried a cowboy, laughing. "He +ain't here." +</P> + +<P> +Pete sat up, naturally interested in the answer. +</P> + +<P> +"He's lucky he ain't," retorted the cow-puncher. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>You're</I> lucky he ain't," came from Pete's vicinity. +</P> + +<P> +"Who says so?" +</P> + +<P> +Andy White tugged at Pete's sleeve. "Shut up, Pete! That's Steve Gary +talkin'. Don't you go mixin' with Gary. He's right quick with his +gun. What's a-bitin' you, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who'd you say?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Gary—Steve Gary. Reckon you heard of him." +</P> + +<P> +"Who says I'm lucky he ain't here?" again challenged Gary. +</P> + +<P> +"Shut up, Steve," said a friendly cowboy. "Can't you take a josh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who's lookin' for a row, anyhow?" queried another cowboy. "I ain't." +</P> + +<P> +The men laughed. Pete's face was somber in the firelight. Gary! The +man who had led the raid on Pop Annersley's homestead. Pete knew that +he would meet Gary some day, and he was curious to see the man who was +responsible for the killing of Annersley. He had no definite plan—did +not know just what he would do when he met him. Time had dulled the +edge of Pete's earlier hatred and experience had taught him to leave +well enough alone. But that strident voice, edged with malice, had +stirred bitter memories. Pete felt that should he keep silent it would +reflect on his loyalty to both Montoya and Annersley. There were men +there who knew he had worked for Montoya. They knew, but hardly +expected that Pete would take up Gary's general challenge. He was but +a youth—hardly more than a boy. The camp was somewhat surprised when +Pete got to his feet and stepped toward the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm the one that said you was lucky Montoya wasn't here," he asserted. +"And I'm leavin' it to my boss, or Bud Long, or your own boss"—and he +indicated Houck with a gesture—"if I ain't right." +</P> + +<P> +"Who in hell are you, anyhow?" queried Gary, +</P> + +<P> +"Me? I'm Pop Annersley's boy, Pete. Mebby you recollec' you said +you'd kill me if I talked about that shootin'. I was a kid then—and I +was sure scared of the bunch that busted into the shack—three growed +men ag'in' a kid—a-threatenin' what they'd do to the man that bumped +off two of their braves. You was askin' who talked up awhile back. It +was me." +</P> + +<P> +Gary was on his feet and took a step toward Pete when young Andy rose. +Pete was his bunkie. Andy didn't want to fight, but if Gary pulled his +gun… +</P> + +<P> +Bailey got up quietly, and turning his back on Gary told Pete and Andy +to saddle up and ride out to relieve two of the boys on night-herd. +</P> + +<P> +It was Bud Long who broke the tension. "It's right late for young +roosters to be crowin' that way," he chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +Everybody laughed except Gary. "But it ain't too late for full-growed +roosters to crow!" he asserted. +</P> + +<P> +Long chuckled again. "Nope. I jest crowed." +</P> + +<P> +Not a man present missed the double-meaning, including Gary. And Gary +did not want any of Long's game. The genial Bud had delicately +intimated that his sympathies were with the Concho boys. Then there +were Bailey and Bill Haskins and several others among the Concho outfit +who would never see one of their own get the worst of it. Gary turned +and slunk away toward his own wagon. One after another the T-Bar-T +boys rose and followed. The Annersley raid was not a popular subject +with them. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey turned to Long. "Thanks, Bud." +</P> + +<P> +"'Mornin', Jim," said Long facetiously. "When 'd you git here?" +</P> + +<P> +Two exceedingly disgruntled young cowboys saddled up and rode out to +the night-herd. They had worked all day, and now they would have to +ride herd the rest of the night, for it was nearing twelve. As relief +men they would have to hold their end of the herd until daybreak. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you to shut up," complained Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't listenin' to you," said Pete, +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! And this is what we git for your gittin' red-headed about a ole +Mexican sheep-herder. But, honest, Pete, you sure come clost to +gittin' yours. Gary mebby wouldn't 'a' pulled on you—but he'd 'a' +sure trimmed you if Bailey hadn't stepped in." +</P> + +<P> +"He'd never put a hand on me," stated Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you'd 'a' plugged 'im?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm meanin' I would." +</P> + +<P> +"But, hell, Pete, you ain't no killer! And they's no use gettin' +started that way. They's plenty as would like to see Gary bumped +off—but I don't want to be the man to do it. Suppose Gary did lead +that raid on ole man Annersley? That's over and done. Annersley is +dead. You're livin'—and sure two dead men don't make a live one. +What's the good o' takin' chances like that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno, Andy. All I know is that when Gary started talkin' about +Montoya I commenced to git hot inside. I knowed I was a fool—but I +jest had to stand up and tell him what he was. It wa'n't me doin' it. +It was jest like somethin' big a-pullin' me onto my feet and makin' me +talk like I did. It was jest like you was ridin' the edge of some +steep and bad goin' and a maverick takes over and you know you got no +business to put your hoss down after him. But your saddle is +a-creakin' and a-sayin', 'Go git 'im!'—and you jest nacherally go. +Kin you tell me what makes a fella do the like of that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno, Pete. But chasin' mavericks is different." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby. But the idee is jest the same." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm hopin' you don't git many more of them idees right soon. +I'm sure with you to the finish, but I ain't wishful to git mine that +way." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't askin' you to," said Pete, for he was angry with himself +despite the logic of his own argument. +</P> + +<P> +They were near the herd. Andy, who had flushed hotly at Pete's rather +ungenerous intimation, spurred his pony round and rode toward a dim +figure that nodded in the starlight. Pete whirled his own pony and +rode in the opposite direction. +</P> + +<P> +Toward dawn, as they circled, they met again. +</P> + +<P> +"Got the makin's?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Right here," said Andy. +</P> + +<P> +As Pete took the little sack of tobacco, their hands touched and +gripped. "I seen you standin' side of me," said Pete, "when I was +talkin' to Gary." +</P> + +<P> +"You was dreaming" laughed Andy. "That was your shadow." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby," asserted Pete succinctly. "But I seen out of the corner of my +eye that that there shadow had its hand on its gun. And <I>I</I> sure +didn't." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IN THE PIT +</H3> + +<P> +The round-up was over. A trainload of Concho steers was on its way +East, accompanied by four of the Concho boys. The season had been a +good one and prices were fair. Bailey was feeling well. There was no +obvious reason for his restlessness. He had eaten a hearty breakfast. +The sky was clear, and a thin, fragrant wind ran over the high mesa, a +wind as refreshing as a drink of cold mountain water on a hot day. +Suddenly it occurred to Bailey that the deer season was open—that "the +hunting winds were loose." Somewhere in the far hills the bucks were +running again. A little venison would be a welcome change from a +fairly steady diet of beef. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey saddled up, and hung his rifle under the stirrup-leather. He +tucked a compact lunch in his saddle-pockets, filled a <I>morral</I> with +grain and set off in the direction of the Blue Range. +</P> + +<P> +Once on the way and his restlessness evaporated. He did not realize +that deer-hunting was an excuse to be alone. +</P> + +<P> +Jim Bailey, however, was not altogether happy. He was worried about +Young Pete. The incident at the round-up had set him thinking. The +T-Bar-T and the Concho men were not over-friendly. There were certain +questions of grazing and water that had never been definitely settled. +The Concho had always claimed the right to run their cattle on the Blue +Mesa with the Blue Range as a tentative line of demarcation. The +T-Bar-T always claimed the Blue as part of their range. There had been +some bickering until the killing of Annersley, when Bailey promptly +issued word to his men to keep the Concho cattle north of the +homestead. He had refused to have anything to do with the raid, nor +did he now intend that his cattle should be an evidence that he had +even countenanced it. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete had unwittingly stirred up the old enmity. Any untoward act +of a cowboy under such circumstances would be taken as expressive of +the policy of the foreman. Even if Pete's quarrel was purely a +personal matter there was no telling to what it might lead. The right +or wrong of the matter, personally, was not for Bailey to decide. His +duty was to keep his cattle where they belonged and his men out of +trouble. And because he was known as level-headed and capable he held +the position of actual manager of the Concho—owned by an Eastern +syndicate—but he was too modest and sensible to assume any such title, +realizing that as foreman he was in closer touch with his men. They +told him things, as foreman, that as manager he would have heard +indirectly through a foreman—qualified or elaborated as that official +might choose. +</P> + +<P> +As he jogged along across the levels Bailey thought it all over. He +would have a talk with Young Pete when he returned and try to show him +that his recent attitude toward Gary militated against the Concho's +unprinted motto: "The fewer quarrels the more beef." +</P> + +<P> +Halfway across the mesa there was what was known as "The Pit "; a +circular hole in the plain; rock-walled, some forty or fifty yards in +diameter and as many yards deep. Its bottom was covered with fine, +loose sand, a strange circumstance in a country composed of tufa and +volcanic rock. Legend had it that the Pit was an old Hopi tank, or +water-hole—a huge cistern where that prehistoric tribe conserved the +rain. Bits of broken pottery and scattered beads bore out this theory, +and round the tank lay the low, crumbling mounds of what had once been +a village. +</P> + +<P> +The trail on the Blue ran close to the Pit, and no rider passing it +failed to glance down. Cattle occasionally strayed into it and if weak +were unable to climb out again without help from horse and rope. As +Bailey approached, he heard the unmistakable bark of a six-shooter. He +slipped from his horse, strode cautiously to the rim, and peered over. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete had ridden his horse down the ragged trail and was at the +moment engaged in six-gun practice. Bailey drew back and sat down. +Pete had gathered together some bits of rock and had built a target +loosely representing a man. The largest rock, on which was laid a +small round, bowlder for a head, was spattered with lead. Pete, quite +unconscious of an audience, was cutting loose with speed and accuracy. +He threw several shots at the place which represented the vitals of his +theoretical enemy, punched the shells from his gun, and reloaded. Then +he stepped to his horse and led him opposite the target and some twenty +feet from it. Crouching, he fired under the horse's belly. The horse +bucked and circled the enclosure. Pete strode after him, caught him +up, and repeated the performance. Each time Pete fired, the horse +naturally jumped and ran. Patiently Pete caught him up again. Finally +the animal, although trembling and wild-eyed, stood to the gun. Pete +patted its neck. Reloading he mounted. Bailey was curious to see what +the boy would do next. Pete turned the horse and, spurring him, flung +past the target, emptying his gun as he went. Then he dismounted and +striding up to within ten yards of the man-target, holstered his gun +and stood for a moment as still as a stone itself. Suddenly his hand +flashed to his side. Bailey rubbed his eyes. The gun had not come +from the holster, yet the rock target was spattered with five more +shots. Bailey could see the lead fly as the blunt slugs flattened on +the stone. +</P> + +<P> +"The young son-of-a-gun!" muttered Bailey. "Dinged if he ain't +shootin' through the open holster! Where in blazes did he learn that +bad-man trick?" +</P> + +<P> +Thus far Pete had not said a word, even to the horse. But now that he +had finished his practice he strode to the rock-target and thrust his +hand against it. "You're dead!" he exclaimed. "You're plumb +salivated!" He pushed, and the man-target toppled and fell. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't you goin' to bury him?" queried Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +Pete whirled. The color ran up his neck and face. "H'lo, Jim." +</P> + +<P> +"How'd you know it was me?" Bailey stood up. +</P> + +<P> +"Knowed your voice." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, come on up. I was wonderin' who was down there settin' off the +fireworks. Didn't hear you till I got most on top of you. You sure +got some private shootin'-gallery." +</P> + +<P> +Pete led his pony up the steep trail and squatted beside Bailey. "How +long you been watching me, Jim?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, jest since you started shooting under your hoss. What's the idea?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin', jest practicin'." +</P> + +<P> +"You must 'a' been practicin' quite a' spell. You handle that +smoke-wagon like an ole-timer." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't advertisin' it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's all right, Pete. Glad I got a front seat. Never figured +you was a top-hand with a gun. Now I'm wise. I know enough not to +stack up against you." +</P> + +<P> +Pete smiled his slow smile and pushed back his hat. "I reckon you're +right about that. I never did no shootin' in company. Ole José +Montoya always said to do your practicin' by yourself, and then nobody +knows just how you would play your hand." +</P> + +<P> +Bailey frowned and nodded. "Well, seein' as I'm in on it, Pete, I'd +kind of like to know myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I'm jest figurin' that some day mebby somebody'll want to hang my +hide on the fence. I don't aim to let him." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' Gary?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same. I ain't <I>lookin'</I> for Gary—even if he did shoot down Pop +Annersley—nor I ain't tryin' to keep out of his way. I'm ridin' this +country and I'm like to meet up with him 'most any time. That's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks, Pete! You forget Gary. He sure ain't worth gettin' hung for. +Gary ain't goin' to put you down so long as you ride for the Concho. +He knows somebody 'd get him. You jest practice shootin' all you +like—but tend to business the rest of the time and you'll live longer. +You can figure on one thing, if Gary was to get you he wouldn't live to +get out of this country." +</P> + +<P> +"You're handin' me your best card," said Pete. "Gary killed Annersley. +The law didn't get Gary. And none of you fellas got him. He's ridin' +this here country yet. And you was tellin' me to forget him." +</P> + +<P> +"But that's different, Pete. No one saw Gary shoot Annersley. It was +night. Annersley was killed in his cabin—by a shot through the +window. Anybody might have fired that shot. Why, you were there +yourself—and you can't prove who done it." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't, eh? Well, between you and me, Jim, I <I>know</I>. One of Gary's +own men said that night when they were leavin' the cabin, 'It must 'a' +been Steve that drilled the ole man because Steve was the only puncher +who knowed where the window was and fired into it.'" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know that. So you aim to even up, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. I jest aim to be ready to even up." +</P> + +<P> +Bailey strode back to his horse. "I'm goin' up in the hills and look +for a deer. Want to take a little pasear with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suits me, Jim." +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, then." +</P> + +<P> +They mounted and rode side by side across the noon mesa. +</P> + +<P> +The ponies stepped briskly. The air was like a song. Far away the +blue hills invited exploration of their timbered and mysterious +silences. +</P> + +<P> +"Makes a fella feel like forgettin' everything and everybody—but jest +this," said Pete, gesturing toward the ranges. +</P> + +<P> +"The bucks'll be on the ridges," remarked Bailey. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GAME +</H3> + +<P> +They got their buck—a big six-point—just before the sun dipped below +the flaming sky-line. In order to pack the meat in, one or the other +would have to walk. Pete volunteered, but Bailey generously offered to +toss up for the privilege of riding. He flipped a coin and won. +"Suits me," said Pete, grinning. "It's worth walkin' from here to the +ranch jest to see you rope that deer on my hoss. I reckon you'll +sweat." +</P> + +<P> +It took about all of the foreman's skill and strength, assisted by +Pete, to rope the deer on the pony, who had never packed game and who +never intended to if he could help it. And it was a nervous horse that +Pete led down the long woodland trail as the shadows grew distorted and +grim in the swiftly fading light Long before they reached the mesa +level it was dark. The trail was carpeted with needles of the pine and +their going was silent save for the creak of the saddles and the +occasional click of a hoof against an uncovered rock. Pete's horse +seemed even more nervous as they made the last descent before striking +the mesa. "Somethin' besides deer is bother'n' him," said Pete as they +worked cautiously down a steep switchback. The horse had stopped and +was trembling. Bailey glanced back. "Up there!" he whispered, +gesturing to the trail above them. Pete had also been looking round, +and before Bailey could speak again, a sliver of flame split the +darkness and the roar of Pete's six-gun shattered the eerie silence of +the hillside. Bailey's horse plunged off the trail and rocketed +straight down the mountain. Pete's horse, rearing from the hurtling +shape that lunged from the trail above, tore the rope from his hand and +crashed down the hillside, snorting. Something was threshing about the +trail and coughing horribly. Pete would have run if he had known which +way to run. He had seen two lambent green dots glowing above him and +had fired with that quick instinct of placing his shot—the result of +long practice. The flopping and coughing ceased. Pete, with cocked +gun poked ahead of him, struck a match. In its pale flare he saw the +long gray shape of a mountain lien stretched across the trail. +Evidently the lion had smelled the blood of the deer, or the odor of +the sweating horses—a mountain lion likes horse-flesh better than +anything else—and had padded down the trail in the darkness, following +as close as he dared. The match flamed and spluttered out. Pete +wisely backed away a few paces and listened. A little wind whispered +in the pines and a branch creaked, but there came no sound of movement +from the lion. "I reckon I plugged him right!" muttered Pete. "Wonder +what made Jim light out in sech a hurry?" And, "Hey, Jim!" he called. +</P> + +<P> +From far below came a faint <I>Whoo</I>! <I>Halloo</I>! Then the words separate +and distinct: "I—got—your—horse." +</P> + +<P> +"I—got—a—lion," called Pete shrilly. +</P> + +<P> +"Who—is lyin'—?" came from the depths below. +</P> + +<P> +Pete grinned despite his agitation. "Come—on—back!" shouted Pete. +He thought he heard Bailey say something like "damn," but it may have +been, "I am." Pete struck another match and stepped nearer the lion +this time. The great, lithe beast was dead. The blunt-nose forty-five +at close range had torn away a part of its skull. "I done spiled the +head," complained Pete. In the succeeding darkness he heard the faint +tinkle of shod feet on the trail. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he could distinctly hear the heavy breathing of the horse and +the gentle creak of the saddle. Within speaking distance he told the +foreman that he had shot a whopper of a lion and it looked as though +they would need another pack-horse. Bailey said nothing until he had +arrived at the angle of the switchback, when he lighted a match and +gazed at the great gray cat of the rocks. +</P> + +<P> +"You get twenty dollars bounty," he told Pete. "And you sure stampeded +me into the worst piece of down timber I've rode for a long time. +Gosh! but you're quick with that smoke-wagon of yours! Lost my hat and +liked to broke my leg ag'in' a tree, but I run plumb onto your horse +draggin' a rope. I tied him down there on the flat. I figure you've +saved a dozen calves by killin' that kitty-cat. Did you know it was a +lion when you shot?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, or I'd 'a' sure beat the hosses down the grade. I jest cut +loose at them two green eyes a-burnin' in the brush and <I>whump</I>! down +comes Mr. Kitty-cat almost plumb atop me. Mebby I wasn't scared! I +was wonderin' why you set off in sech a hurry. You sure burned the +ground down the mountain." +</P> + +<P> +"Just stayin' with my saddle," laughed Bailey. "Old Frisco here ain't +lost any lions recent." +</P> + +<P> +"Will he pack?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno. Wish it was daylight." +</P> + +<P> +"Wish we had another rope," said Pete. "My rope is on my hoss and +yours is cinchin' the deer on him. And that there lion sure won't +lead. <I>He's</I> dead." +</P> + +<P> +"'Way high up in the Mokiones,'" chanted Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +"'A-trippin' down the slope'!" laughed Pete. "And we ain't got no +rope. But say, Jim, can't we kind of hang him acrost your saddle and +steady him down to the flats?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see what I can do with the tie-strings. I'll hold Frisco. You +go ahead and heave him up." +</P> + +<P> +Pete approached the lion and tried to lift it, but it weaved and +slipped from his arms. "Limper 'n wet rawhide!" asserted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you that scared? Shucks, now, I'd 'a' thought—" +</P> + +<P> +"The doggone lion, I mean. Every time I heave at him he jest folds up +and lays ag'in' me like he was powerful glad to see me. You try him." +</P> + +<P> +The horse snorted and shied as the foreman slung the huge carcass +across the saddle and tied the lion's fore feet and hind feet with the +saddle-strings. They made slow progress to the flats below, where they +had another lively session with Pete's horse, who had smelled the lion. +Finally with their game roped securely they set out on foot for the +ranch. +</P> + +<P> +The hunting, and especially Pete's kill, had drawn them close together. +They laughed and talked, making light of high-heeled boots that pinched +and blistered as they plodded across the starlit mesa. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's put one over on the boys!" suggested Pete. "We'll drift in +quiet, hang the buck in the slaughter-house, and then pack the +kitty-cat into the bunk-house and leave him layin' like he was asleep, +by Bill Haskins's bunk. Ole Bill allus gits his feet on the floor +afore he gits his eyes open. Mebby he won't step high and lively when +he sees what he's got his feet on!" +</P> + +<P> +Bailey, plodding ahead and leading Frisco, chuckled. "I'll go you, +Pete, but I want you to promise me somethin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Shoot!" +</P> + +<P> +Bailey waited for Pete to come alongside. "It's this way, Pete—and +this here is plain outdoor talk, which you sabe. Mrs. Bailey and me +ain't exactly hatin' you, as you know. But we would hate to see you +get into trouble on account of Gary or any of the T-Bar-T boys. And +because you can shoot is a mighty good reason for you to go slow with +that gun. 'T ain't that I give two whoops and a holler what happens to +Gary. It's what might happen to you. I was raised right here in this +country and I know jest how those things go. You're workin' for the +Concho. What you do, the Concho's got to back up. I couldn't hold the +boys if Gary got you, or if you got Gary. They'd be hell a-poppin' all +over the range. Speakin' personal, I'm with you to the finish, for I +know how you feel about Pop Annersley. But you ain't growed up yet. +You got plenty time to think. If you are a-hankerin' for Gary's scalp, +when you git to be twenty-one, why, go to it. But you're a kid yet, +and a whole lot can happen in five or six years. Mebby somebody'll git +Gary afore then. I sure hope they do. But while you're worldly for +me—jest forget Gary. I ain't tellin' you you <I>got</I> to. I'm talkin' +as your friend." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go you," said Pete slowly. "But if Steve Gary comes at me—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's different. Let him talk—and you keep still. Keepin' still at +the right time has saved many a man's hide. Most folks talk too much." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE KITTY-CAT +</H3> + +<P> +Pete and Bailey took off their boots just before they entered the +bunk-house. They lugged the defunct mountain lion in and laid it by +Bill Haskins's bunk. +</P> + +<P> +Pete propped the lion's head up with one of Haskin's boots. The effect +was realistic enough. The lion lay stretched out in a most natural +way, apparently gazing languidly at the sleeping cow-puncher. This was +more or less accidental, as they dare not light the lamp for fear of +waking the men. Bailey stole softly to the door and across to the +house. Pete undressed and turned in, to dream of who knows what +ghostly lions prowling through the timberlands of the Blue Range. It +seemed but a few minutes when he heard the clatter of the pack-horse +bell that Mrs. Bailey used to call the men to breakfast. The chill +gray half-light of early morning discovered him with one cautious eye, +gazing across at Haskins, who still snored, despite the bell. "Oh, +Bill!" called Pete. Haskins's snore broke in two as he swallowed the +unlaunched half and sat up rubbing his eyes. He swung his feet down +and yawned prodigiously. "Heh—hell!" he exclaimed as his bare feet +touched the furry back of the lion. Bill glanced down into those +half-closed eyes. His jaw sagged. Then he bounded to the middle of +the room. With a whoop he dashed through the doorway, rounded into the +open, and sprinted for the corral fence, his bare legs twinkling like +the side-rods of a speeding locomotive and his shirt-tail fluttering in +the morning breeze. Andy White leaped from his bunk, saw the dead +lion, and started to follow Haskins. Another cowboy, Avery, was +dancing on one foot endeavoring to don his overalls. +</P> + +<P> +Hank Barley, an old-timer, jumped up with his gun poised, ready for +business. "Why, he's daid!" he exclaimed, poking the lion with the +muzzle of his gun. +</P> + +<P> +Pete rose languidly and began to dress. "What's all the hocus, fellas? +Where's Haskins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bill he done lit out like he'd lost somethin'," said Barley. "Now I +wonder what young ijjut packed that tree-cat in here last night? Jim +said yesterday he was goin' to do a little lookin' round. Looks like +he sure seen somethin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," drawled Pete. "Jim and me got a buck and this here lion. We +didn't have time to git anything else." +</P> + +<P> +"Too bad you didn't git a bear and a couple of bob-cats while you was +at it." +</P> + +<P> +"Hey, boys!" called Andy from the doorway. "Come see Bill!" +</P> + +<P> +The men crowded to the door. Perched on the top rail of the corral +fence sat Bill Haskins shivering and staring at the house. "We killed +your bed-feller!" called Barley. "He done et your pants afore we +plugged him, but I kin lend you a pair. You had better git a-movin' +afore Ma Bailey—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ssh!" whispered Andy White. "There's Ma standin' in the kitchen door +and—she's seen Bill!" +</P> + +<P> +Bill also realized that he had been seen by Mrs. Bailey. He shivered +and shook, teetering on the top rail until indecision got the better of +his equilibrium. With a wild backward flip he disappeared from the +high-line of vision. Ma Bailey also disappeared. The boys doubled up +and groaned as Bill Haskins crawled on all fours across the corral +toward the shelter of the stable. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my Gosh!" gasped Barley. "S-s-ome—body—sh-shoot me and put me +out of my m-misery!" +</P> + +<P> +A few seconds later Bailey crossed the yard carrying an extra pair of +those coverings most essential to male comfort and equanimity. +</P> + +<P> +It was a supernaturally grave bevy of cow-punchers that gathered round +the table that morning. Ma Bailey's silence was eloquent of suppressed +indignation. Bailey also seemed subdued. Pete was as placid as a +sleeping cherub. Only Andy White seemed really overwrought. He seemed +to suffer internally. The sweat stood out on Bill Haskins's red face, +but his appetite was in no way impaired. He ate rapidly and drank much +coffee. Ma Bailey was especially gracious to him. Presently from +Pete's end of the table came a faint "Me-e-ow!" Andy White put down +his cup of coffee and excusing himself fled from the room, Pete stared +after him as though greatly astonished. Barley the imperturbable +seemed to be suffering from internal spasms, and presently left the +table. Blaze Andrews, the quietest of the lot, also departed without +finishing his breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't you feelin' well, Ma?" queried Pete innocently. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey rose and said he thought he would "go see to the horses"—a very +unusual procedure for him. Pete also thought it was about time to +depart. He rose and nodded to Bill. "Glad to see you back, Bill." +Then he went swiftly. +</P> + +<P> +Haskins heaved a sigh. "I—doggone it—I—You got any +sticking-plaster, Ma?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, William"—and "William" because Ma Bailey was still a bit +indignant, although she appreciated that Bill was more sinned against +than sinning. "Yes, William. Did you hurt yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Stepped on a nail—er—this mawnin'. I—I wasn't lookin' where I +stepped." +</P> + +<P> +"What started you out—that way?" queried Mrs. Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, hell, Ma—I—wasn't meanin' hell, Ma,—but somebody—I reckon I +know who—plants a mountain lion right aside my bunk last night when I +was sleepin'. Fust thing this mawnin' I heard that bell and jumped out +o' my bunk plumb onto the cuss. Like to bruk my neck. That there +lion was a-lookin' right up into my face, kind of sleepy-eyed and +smilin' like he was hungry. I sure didn't stop to find out. 'Course, +when I got my wind, I knowed it was a joke. I reckon I ought to kill +somebody—" +</P> + +<P> +"A lion, Bill? Hev you been drinkin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Drinkin'! Why, Ma, I ain't had a drop sence—" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I better go see what's in that bunk-house," said Mrs. Bailey, +rising. "I'll get you that stickin'-plaster when I come back." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bailey realized that something unusual had started Bill Haskins on +his wild career that morning, but she could not quite believe that +there was a mountain lion—alive or dead—in the bunk-house until she +saw the great beast with her own amazed eyes. And she could not quite +believe that Pete had shot the lion until Bailey himself certified to +Pete's story of the hunt. Mrs. Bailey, for some feminine reason, felt +that she had been cheated. Bailey had not told her about the lion. +She had been indignant with Haskins for his apparently unseemly +conduct, and had been still more indignant with Pete when she +appreciated that he was at the bottom of the joke. But Haskins was +innocent and Pete was now somewhat of a hero. The good woman turned on +her husband and rebuked him roundly for allowing such "goings-on." +Bailey took his dressing-down silently. He felt that the fun had been +worth it. Pete himself was rather proud and obviously afraid he would +show it. But the atmosphere settled to normal when the men went to +work. Pete was commissioned to skin and cut up the deer. Later in the +day he tackled the lion, skinned it, fleshed out the nose, ears, and +eyelids, and salted and rolled the hide. Roth, the storekeeper at +Concho, was somewhat of a taxidermist and Mrs. Bailey had admired the +lion-skin. +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt that he could have used the twenty dollars bounty, but he was +nothing if not generous. That afternoon he rode to Concho with the +lion-skin tied behind the cantle. He returned to the ranch late that +night. Next morning he was mysteriously reticent about the +disappearance of the hide. He intended to surprise Ma Bailey with a +real Christmas present. No one guessed his intent. Pete was good at +keeping his own counsel. +</P> + +<P> +A few evenings later the men, loafing outside the bunk-house, amused +themselves by originating titles for the chief actors in the recent +range-drama. Pete, without question, was "The Lion Tamer," Bailey was +"Big-Chief-not-Afraid-of-a-Buck." Ma Bailey was "Queen of the +Pies"—not analogous to the drama but flattering—and Haskins, after +some argument and much suggestion, was entitled "Claw-Hammer." Such +titles as "Deer-Foot," "Rail-Hopper," "Back-Flip Bill," +"Wind-Splitter," and the like were discarded in favor of +"Claw-Hammer"—for the unfortunate Bill had stepped on a rusty nail in +his recent exodus from the lion's den, and was at the time suffering +from a swollen and inflamed foot—really a serious injury, although +scoffed at by the good-natured Bill himself despite Mrs. Bailey's +solicitude and solution of peroxide. +</P> + +<P> +Winter, with its thin shifts of snow, its intermittent sunshiny days, +its biting winds that bored through chaps and heavy gloves, was finally +borne away on the reiterant, warm breezes of spring. Mrs. Bailey was +the proud and happy possessor of a lion-skin rug—Pete's Christmas +present to her—proud of the pelt itself and happy because Young Pete +had foregone the bounty that he might make the present, which was +significant of his real affection. Coats and heavy overshoes were +discarded. Birds sang among sprouting aspen twigs, and lean, +mangy-looking coyotes lay on the distant hillsides soaking in the +warmth. Gaunt cattle lowed in the hollows and spring calves staggered +about, gazing at this new world with round, staring eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, had discussed with Bailey the advisability +of defining a line between the two big ranches. They came to an +agreement and both stated that they would send men to roughly survey +the line, fix upon landmarks, and make them known to the riders of both +outfits. Bailey, who had to ride from Concho to the railroad to meet a +Kansas City commission man, sent word back to the Concho to have two +men ride over to Annersley's old homestead the following day. Mrs. +Bailey immediately commissioned Young Pete and Andy to ride over to the +homestead, thinking that Pete was a particularly good choice as he knew +the country thereabouts. She cautioned the boys to behave +themselves—she always did when Andy and Pete set out together—and +giving them a comfortable package of lunch, she turned to her household +work. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm takin' Blue Smoke," stated Pete as Andy packed his saddle to the +corral. +</P> + +<P> +"You're takin' chances then," observed Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I got him so he knows which way is north," asserted Pete. "I been +gittin' acquainted with that cayuse, Chico." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I seen you settin' on the ground watchin' him buck your saddle +off a couple of times," snorted Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, seein' as this here pasear is straight riding I reckon I'll +crawl him and turn him loose. He needs exercisin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't," asserted Andy. "'Course, some folks has always got to +be showin' off. If Bailey was here you wouldn't be ridin' that hoss." +</P> + +<P> +"'And up and down and round and 'cross, that top-boss done his best!'" +sang Pete as he lugged his saddle into the corral. +</P> + +<P> +"'All hell can't glue you to that hoss when he gits headed west,'" Andy +misquoted for the occasion. +</P> + +<P> +"You jest swing that gate open when I git aboard," suggested Pete. +"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River." +</P> + +<P> +Andy laughed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"The Ridin' Kid from Powder River<BR> +Ain't got no lungs nor ary liver,<BR> +Some says it was a blue cayuse…" +</P> + +<P> +"Go git you a sack and gather up the leavin's," laughed Pete, as he +kicked his foot into the stirrup and hit the saddle before Blue Smoke +knew what had happened. Andy swung the gate open. The horse headed +for the mesa, pitching as he ran. This was not half so bad for Pete as +though Blue Smoke had been forced to confine his efforts to the corral. +Pete had long since discovered that when Blue Smoke saw space ahead of +him, he was not apt to pitch hard, but rather to take it out in running +bucks and then settle down to a high-lope—as he did on this occasion, +after he had tried with his usual gusto to unseat his rider. There is +something admirable in the spirit of a horse that refuses to be ridden, +and there was much to be said for Blue Smoke. He possessed tremendous +energy, high courage, and strength, signified by the black stripe down +his back and the compact muscles of his flanks and fore legs. Pete had +coveted the horse ever since that first and unforgettable experience in +the corral. Bailey had said jokingly that he would give Pete the +outlaw if Pete would break him. Pete had frequently had it out with +Blue Smoke when the men were away. He had taken Bailey at his word, +but as usual had said nothing about riding the animal. +</P> + +<P> +Andy watched Pete until he saw that Blue Smoke had ceased to pitch and +was running, when he swung up and loped out after his companion. He +overtook him a half-mile from the ranch, and loped alongside, watching +Pete with no little admiration and some envy. It struck Andy that +while Pete never made much of his intent or his accomplishment, +whatever it might be, he usually succeeded in gaining his end. There +was something about Pete that puzzled Andy; a kind of silent +forcefulness that emanated neither from bulk nor speech; for Pete was +rather lithe and compact than "beefy" and more inclined to silence than +to speech. Yet there was none of the "do or die" attitude about him, +either. But whatever it was, it was there—evident in Pete's eye as he +turned and glanced at Andy—an intenseness of purpose, not manifest in +any outward show or form. +</P> + +<P> +"You sure tamed him," said Andy admiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"Only for this mornin'," acknowledged Pete. "To-morrow mornin' he'll +go to it ag'in. But I aim to sweat some of it out of him afore we hit +the Blue. Got the makin's?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FOUR MEN +</H3> + +<P> +Pete grew silent as he rode with Andy toward the hill-trail that led to +his old home on the Blue Mesa, where he finally surveyed the traces of +old man Annersley's patient toil. The fences had been pulled down and +the water-hole enlarged. The cabin, now a rendezvous for occasional +riders of the T-Bar-T, had suffered from weather and neglect. The door +sagging from one hinge, the grimy, cobwebbed windows, the unswept +floor, and the litter of tin cans about the yard, stirred bitter +memories in Pete's heart. Andy spoke of Annersley, "A fine old man," +but Pete had no comment to make. They loafed outside in the afternoon +sunshine, momentarily expecting the two men from the T-Bar-T. +Presently Andy White rose and wandered off toward the spring. Pete sat +idly tossing pellets of earth at a tin can. He was thinking of +Annersley, of the old man's unvarying kindliness and quaint humor. He +wished that Annersley were alive, could know of his success—Pete had +done pretty well for a lad of sixteen—and that they could talk +together as in the old days. He rose presently and entered the +abandoned cabin. The afternoon sunlight flickered palely through the +dusty windows. Several window-panes had been broken out, but the one +marked with two bullet holes, radiating tiny cracks in the glass, was +still there. The oilcloth on the table was torn and soiled. The mud +of wet weather had been tracked about the floor. The stove was rusted +and cracked. Pete wondered why men must invariably abuse things that +were patently useful, when those things did not belong to any one +especially; for the stove, the windows, the table, the two home-made +chairs showed more than disuse. They had been wantonly broken, hacked, +or battered. Some one had pried the damper from the stove, broken it +in two, and had used half of it for a lid-lifter. A door had been torn +from the wall-cupboard and split into kindling, as a few painted +splinters attested. And some one had shot several holes in the door, +evidently endeavoring to make the initial "T" with a forty-five. An +old pair of discarded overalls lay in one corner, a worn and useless +glove in another. Pete was glad that Annersley would never know of all +this—and yet it seemed as though Annersley <I>could</I> see these +things—and Pete, standing alone in the room, felt as though he were in +some way to blame for this disorder and squalidness. Time and +occupation had rather dulled Pete's remembrance of the actual detail of +the place, but now its original neatness and orderliness came back to +him vividly. +</P> + +<P> +He was mentally rehabilitating the cabin when a boot-heel crunched on +the ground outside and Andy appeared in the doorway. "The T-Bar-T boys +are comin'. Seen 'em driftin' down the Ranger Trail." +</P> + +<P> +"They was to be here this mornin'," said Pete. "Reckon they aim to +bush here all night and ride to-morrow. Hope they brought some grub +along." +</P> + +<P> +"We got plenty. Come on outside. This here ole room kind o' gits on +my nerves." +</P> + +<P> +Pete strode out. They stood watching the approaching riders. Suddenly +Andy White touched Pete's arm. "One of 'em is Gary!" he said, speaking +low. +</P> + +<P> +Pete stopped and, picking up a clod, jerked it toward a fence-post. +The clod happened to hit the post and was flicked into dust. "That for +Gary," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Andy grinned, but his eyes were grave. "We'll be right busy," he said +in a sort of tentative way. +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded and hitched up his chaps. One of the approaching horsemen +waved a hand. Andy acknowledged the salute. +</P> + +<P> +The T-Bar-T men rode in and dismounted. "Where's Bailey?" was Gary's +first word. +</P> + +<P> +"Jim sent us to fix up that line with you," replied Andy. "He's over +to Enright." +</P> + +<P> +Gary glanced at Pete, who stared at him, but made no gesture of +greeting. But Pete had read Gary's unspoken thought. "Bailey had sent +a couple of kids over to the Blue to help survey the line." And Pete +did not intend to let Gary "get by" with the idea that his attitude was +not understood. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Houck?" asked Pete, naming the foreman of the T-Bar-T. +</P> + +<P> +Cotton, Gary's companion, a light-haired, amiable but rather dull +youth, stated that Houck was over to the ranch. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckoned he'd come hisself," said Pete. "He knows this country +better 'n most." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I dunno," sneered Gary. "Some of us been here before." +</P> + +<P> +"They wasn't no line then," said Pete quietly, "but they's goin' to be +one." +</P> + +<P> +"You makin' it?" queried Gary. +</P> + +<P> +Pete smiled. "I was sent over here with Andy to do that same thing. +But you're sure welcome to hand out any idees you got, seein' your +fo'man ain't here." +</P> + +<P> +Andy, who saw the inevitable end of this kind of talk, nudged Pete. +"Let's eat," he said. "I reckon we're all willin'." +</P> + +<P> +Gary, like most of his type, was always anticipating an insult, +possibly because his general attitude toward humanity was deliberately +intended to provoke argument and recrimination. He was naturally +quarrelsome—and a bully because of his unquestioned physical courage. +He was popular in a way with those of his fellows who looked upon a +gunman—a killer—as a kind of hero. The foreman of the T-Bar-T found +him valuable as a sort of animate scarecrow. Gary's mere presence +often served to turn the balance when the T-Bar-T riders had occasion +to substantiate a bluff or settle a dispute with some other outfit +riding the high country. And because Gary imagined that Bailey of the +Concho had deliberately sent such youngsters as Andy White and Young +Pete to the Blue Mesa to settle the matter of a boundary line, Gary +felt insulted. He was too narrow-minded to reason that Bailey could +hardly know whom Houck of the T-Bar-T would send. Gary's ill-humor was +not improved by the presence of Young Pete nor by Pete's pugnacious +attitude. Strangely enough, Gary was nervous because he knew that +Young Pete was not afraid of him. +</P> + +<P> +Andy White was keenly aware of this, and found occasion that evening in +Gary's temporary absence to caution Pete, who immediately called +attention to the fact that they had all hung up their guns except Gary. +</P> + +<P> +"All the better!" asserted Andy. "That lets you out if he was to start +something." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And it mebby might let me out for good, Andy. Gary is jest the +kind to shoot a man down without givin' him a chanct. It ain't like +Gary was scared of me—but he's scared of what I know. I hung up my +gun 'cause I told Jim I wouldn't set to lookin' for a scrap with Gary, +or any man. Gary ain't got sand enough to do the same. But there +won't be no fuss. I reckon he dassent draw on me with you two fellas +here. Where 'd he and Cotton go, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno, Pete. They moseyed out without sayin' anything." +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like Gary wanted to put Cotton wise." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if anything starts, I'll sure keep my eye on that Cotton +hombre," said Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"He's easy—and slow," stated Pete. "He ain't got a fightin' eye." +</P> + +<P> +"Here they come," whispered Andy. "I kin hear 'em talkin'." +</P> + +<P> +Pete immediately began to whistle. Andy rose and poked a stick of wood +in the stove. "She's right cool up here," he remarked. +</P> + +<P> +"We been kind o' sizin' up things," stated Cotton as Gary and he +entered the cabin; an excuse for their absence that was unnecessary and +obviously manufactured. +</P> + +<P> +Pete smiled. "I got 'em sized up. Never did cotton to workin' in the +dark." +</P> + +<P> +Gary paused in the act of unsnapping his chaps. +</P> + +<P> +He was about to say something when Andy White interrupted by suggesting +that they turn in early and rise early that they might get the work +done in daylight and not have to spend another night at the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Gary dragged an old mattress from the bedroom and, dropping it beneath +the window, spread his blanket, rolled up in it, and at Cotton's query +as to sharing half of the mattress told Cotton to "sleep where he dam' +pleased." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a friendly cuss, ain't he?" remarked Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" asked Gary, half-rising. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Cotton, there," replied Pete. "You didn't think I was meanin' +you, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +Andy nudged Pete in the dark. "All right," said Pete, ignoring Andy's +meaning. "You git your blanket and we'll bush outside." +</P> + +<P> +They spread their blankets under a cedar, some distance from the cabin, +and lay gazing at the stars. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Andy turned to Pete. "Pete," he said gravely, "you're +walkin' right into trouble. Every time Gary starts to lope, you rein +him up mighty short. He's fightin' the bit, and first thing you know—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll git pitched, eh? Well, mebby you're right. I done told Bailey +that if I ever did meet Steve Gary I would leave him do the talking but +I sure can't stand for his line o' talk. He's plumb mean." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be mighty glad when we git through with this job," said Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks! It won't take three hours! I know every tree and stump on +this flat. We'll be driftin' home 'long about four to-morrow." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE OPEN HOLSTER +</H3> + +<P> +If there ever was a morning calculated to inspire good-will and +heartiness in a human being it was that morning. The dawn came +swiftly, battering through a fleece of clouds and painting the Blue +Mesa in all the gorgeous and utterly indescribable colors of an Arizona +sunrise. The air was crisp and so clear that it seemed to sparkle, +like water. Andy White whistled as he gathered up the blankets and +plodded toward the cabin. Pete felt like whistling, but for some +reason he was silent. He followed Andy to the cabin and saw that the +cowboy Cotton was making coffee. +</P> + +<P> +"All we got is cold grub," stated Pete, "but we got plenty for +everybody." +</P> + +<P> +"We fetched some coffee and bacon," said Cotton. But he did not invite +them to eat. +</P> + +<P> +Pete glanced at Andy. Evidently Cotton had had his instructions or was +afraid to make any friendly overtures. Gary was still lying on the +mattress by the window, apparently asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Pete stepped to where his own gun hung and buckled it on. "Let's mosey +over to the spring and wash," he suggested to Andy. "I ain't no dude, +but I kind o' like to wash before I eat." +</P> + +<P> +"Here, too," said Andy. "Mebby we can locate the horses on the way." +</P> + +<P> +When they returned to the cabin, Gary and Cotton were eating breakfast. +Pete flung a pair of broken hobbles on the floor. "Somebody's cayuse +got rid of these," he stated casually. He knew that they had been on +Gary's horse, as he had seen Gary hobble him. Pete turned and strode +out. Andy was unwrapping their lunch. Presently Gary and Cotton +appeared and picked up their ropes. Andy White, who had seen his own +easily caught pony, graciously offered the use of it in hunting the +strayed horse, but Gary declined the offer gruffly. +</P> + +<P> +"He's so doggone mean his face hurts him," stated Pete, as Gary and +Cotton set off together. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll lose some time if his hoss has lit out for home," said Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"Gary's doin' all he kin to make a job of it," declared Pete. "But I +don't wait for him. Soon's we finish eatin' I'm goin' to locate Blue +Smoke and git to work. We kin run that line without any help from +them. Let 'em walk till they're tired." +</P> + +<P> +"And what do you think of a couple of punchers—<I>punchers</I>, mind +you—that sit down and eat bacon and drink coffee and don't as much as +say 'come in'?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't waste time thinkin' about such, Andy. You finish up the grub. +I got all I want." +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks! This ain't all. We ain't touched the grub in your +saddle-pockets yet. Ma Bailey sure fixed us up right." +</P> + +<P> +"That'll do for noon," said Pete. "I'll run your hoss in, when I git +Blue Smoke. Your hoss'll follow, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"Jest a minute till I git my rope." +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, you stay here. That Blue Smoke hoss knows me. If he spots two +of us comin' he's like to git excited and mebby bust his hobbles and +light out. I'll ketch him all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Jest as you say, Pete." +</P> + +<P> +The sun was warming the air and it was pleasant to sit and watch the +light clouds trail along the far horizon. Andy leaned back against the +cedar and rolled a cigarette. He grinned as he recalled how Pete had +called Gary at every turn, and yet had given the other no chance to +find excuse for a quarrel. Pete was certainly "a cool hand—for a +kid." White, several years Pete's senior, always thought of him as not +much more than a boy. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Pete, who knew every foot of ground on the homestead, trailed +through the scrub toward the spring. Down an occasional opening he +could see the distant forest that edged the mesa, and once he thought +he saw a horse's head behind a bush, but it turned out to be the stub +of a fallen tree. The brush hid the cabin as he worked toward the +timber. Presently he discovered Blue Smoke's tracks and followed them +down into a shallow hollow where the brush was thick. He wound in and +out, keeping the tracks in sight and casually noting where the horse +had stopped to graze. Near the bottom of the hollow he heard voices. +He had been so intent on tracking the horse that he had forgotten Gary +and Cotton. The tracks led toward the voices. Pete instinctively +paused and listened, then shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward. +A thick partition of brush separated him from the unseen speaker. Pete +stopped midway in his stride. +</P> + +<P> +"If you squat down here you can see the winder, right under this bush. +The moon was shinin'. It was a plumb easy shot. And it sure stopped +homesteadin' in this end of the country." +</P> + +<P> +Gary was speaking. Pete drew a step nearer. +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't sayin' who fired that shot,"—and Cotton laughed +obsequiously. +</P> + +<P> +Pete stepped from behind the bush. Gary was facing toward the cabin. +Cotton was squatting near by smoking a cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him," said Pete. "I want to know myself." +</P> + +<P> +"What's it to you?" snarled Gary, and he stepped back. Gary's very +attitude was a challenge. Pete knew that he could not drop his rope +and pull his own gun quick enough to save himself. He saw Gary's hand +move almost imperceptibly toward his holster. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I made a mistake," said Pete slowly—and he let the rope slip +from his hand as though utterly unnerved. "I—I talked kind o' quick," +he stammered. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you won't make no more mistakes," sneered Gary, and he dropped +his hand to his gun. "You want to know who plugged that old +hoss-thief, Annersley, eh? Well, what you goin' to say when I tell you +it was me?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete saw that Gary was working himself up to the pitch when he would +kill. And Pete knew that he had but one chance in a thousand of +breaking even with the killer. He would not have time to draw—but +Montoya had taught him the trick of shooting through the open +holster… Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun as +the holster tilted up. Pete fired twice. Staring as though +hypnotized, Gary clutched at his shirt over his chest with his free +hand. He gave at the knees and his body wilted and settled down—even +as he threw a desperate shot at Pete in a last venomous effort to kill. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-150"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-150.jpg" ALT="Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun as the holster tilted up." BORDER="2" WIDTH="357" HEIGHT="619"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun as +the holster tilted up.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"You seen it was an even break," said Pete, turning to Cotton, who +immediately sank to his knees and implored Pete not to kill him. +</P> + +<P> +"But I reckon you'd lie, anyhow," continued Pete, paying no attention +to the other's mouthings. "Hunt your cayuse—and git a-movin'." +</P> + +<P> +Cotton understood that. Glancing over his shoulder at Gary he turned +and ran toward the timber. Pete stepped to the crumpled figure and +gazed at the bubbling hole in the chest. Then he stepped hack and +mechanically holstered his gun which he had pulled as he spoke to +Cotton. "They'll git me for this," he whispered to himself. "It was +an even break—but they'll git me." Pete fought back his fear with a +peculiar pride—the pride that scorned to appear frightened before his +chum, Andy White. The quarrel had occurred so unexpectedly and +terminated so suddenly, that Pete could not yet realize the full extent +of the tragedy. While quite conscious of what he was doing and +intended to do, he felt as though he were walking in a horrible dream +from which he would never awaken. His instincts were as keen as +ever—for he was already planning his next move—but his sensibilities +had suffered a blunt shock—were numb to all external influence. He +knew that the sun was shining, yet he did not feel its warmth. He was +walking toward the cabin, and toward Andy. He stumbled as he walked, +taking no account of the irregularities of the ground. He could hardly +believe that he had killed Gary. To convince himself against his own +will he mechanically drew his gun and glanced at the two empty shells. +"Three and two is five," he muttered. "I shot twict." He did not +realize that Gary had shot at him—that a shred of his flannel shirt +was dangling from his sleeve where Gary's bullet had cut it. "Wonder +if Andy heard?" he kept asking himself. "I got to tell Andy." +</P> + +<P> +Almost before he realized it he was standing under the cedar and Andy +was speaking. "Thought I heard some one shoot, over toward the woods." +</P> + +<P> +As Pete did not answer, Andy thought that the horse had got away from +him. "Did you get him?" he queried. +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded dully. "I got him. He's over there—in the brush." +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you fetch him in? Did he get the best of you? You look +like he give you a tussle." +</P> + +<P> +"I got him—twict," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Twict? Say, Pete, are you loco? What's ailin' you, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'. Me and Gary just had it out. He's over there—in the brush." +</P> + +<P> +"Gary!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I reckon I got him." +</P> + +<P> +"Hell!" The ruddy color sank from Andy's face. He had supposed that +Gary and Cotton were by this time tracking the strayed horses toward +the T-Bar-T. "Where's Cotton?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I told him to fan it." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Pete—!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know. They's no use talkin', Andy. I come back to tell you—and to +git your rope. Mine's over by Gary." +</P> + +<P> +"What you goin' to do, Pete?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me? Why, I'm goin' to drift as soon as I can git a saddle on Blue. +Cotton he seen the shootin'—but that don't do me no good. He'll swear +that I pulled first. He'd say 'most anything—he was too scared to +know what come off. Gary's hand was on his gun when I let him have +it—twict." +</P> + +<P> +Andy noticed then Pete's torn sleeve. "I reckon that's right. Look at +that!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete turned his head and glanced at his sleeve. "Never knowed he +shot—it was all done so quick." He seemed to awaken suddenly to the +significance of his position. "I'll take your rope and go git Smoke. +Then I'm goin' to drift." +</P> + +<P> +"But where?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're my pardner, Andy, but I ain't sayin'. Then you won't have to +lie. You'll have to tell Jim—and tell him it was like I said—<I>if +Gary come at me, that would be different</I>. I'm leavin' it to you to +square me with Jim Bailey." Pete picked up the rope and started toward +the spring. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' with you," said White, "and ketch my hoss. I aim to see you +through with this." +</P> + +<P> +In an hour they were back at the cabin with the horses. Andy White +glanced at his watch. "Cotton is afoot—for I seen his hoss over +there. But he can make it to the T-Bar-T in three hours. That'll give +us a start of two hours, anyhow. I don't know which way you aim to +ride, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm playin' this hand alone," stated Pete as he saddled Blue Smoke. +"No use your gittin' in bad." +</P> + +<P> +White made no comment, but cinched up his pony. Pete stepped to him +and held out his hand. "So-long, Andy. You been a mighty square +pardner." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' doin'!" exclaimed Andy. "I'm with you to the finish." +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, Andy. If we was both to light out, you'd be in it as bad as me." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what do you say if we both ride down to Concho and report to the +sheriff?" +</P> + +<P> +"I tried that onct—when they killed Pop Annersley. I know how that +would work." +</P> + +<P> +"But what you goin' to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm ridin'," and Pete swung to his horse. Blue Smoke pitched across +the clearing under the spur and rein that finally turned him toward the +south. Pete's sombrero flew off as he headed for the timber. Andy, +reining 'round his horse, that fretted to follow, swung down and caught +up Pete's hat on the run. Pete had pulled up near the edge of the +timber. Andy, as he was about to give Pete his hat, suddenly changed +it for his own. "For luck!" he cried, as Pete slackened rein and Blue +Smoke shot down the dim forest trail. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, perhaps influenced by Montoya's example, always wore a +high-crowned black sombrero. Andy's hat was the usual gray. In the +excitement of leaving, Pete had not thought of that; but as he rode, he +suspected Andy's motive, and glanced back. But Andy was not following, +or if he were, he was riding slowly. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Andy cheerfully put himself in the way of assisting Pete to +escape. He knew the country and thought he knew where Pete was headed +for. Before nightfall a posse would be riding the high country hunting +the slayer of Gary. They would look for a cowboy wearing a black +sombrero. Realizing the risk that he ran, and yet as careless of that +risk as though he rode to a fiesta, Young Andy deliberately turned back +to where Gary lay—he had not yet been to that spot—and, dismounting, +picked up Pete's rope. He glanced at Gary, shivered, and swung to his +horse. Riding so that his trail would be easy to read he set off +toward the open country, east. The fact that he had no food with him, +and that the country was arid and that water was scarce, did not +trouble him. All he hoped for was to delay or mislead the posse long +enough to enable Pete to reach the southern desert. There Pete might +have one chance in twenty of making his final escape. Perhaps it was a +foolish thing to do, but Andy White, inspired by a motive of which +there is no finer, did not stop to reason about it. "He that giveth +his life for a friend…" Andy knew nothing of such a quotation. +He was riding into the desert, quite conscious of the natural hazards +of the trail, and keen to the possibilities that might follow in the +form of an excited posse not too discriminating, in their eagerness to +capture an outlaw, yet he rode with a light heart. After all, Pete was +not guilty of murder. He had but defended his own life. Andy's heart +was light because of the tang of adventure, and a certain appreciation +of what a disappointed posse might feel and express—and because +Romance ran lightly beside him, heartening him on his way; Romance, +whose ears are deaf to all moral considerations and whose eyes see only +the true adventurer, be he priest or pirate; Romance whose eyes are +blind to those who fear to dare. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A FALSE TRAIL +</H3> + +<P> +"Sure he's dead!" reiterated Cotton. "Didn't I see them two holes +plumb through him and the blood soakin' his shirt when I turned him +over? If I'd 'a' had my gun on me that Young Pete would be right side +of Steve, right now! But I couldn't do nothin' without a gun. Pete +Annersley was plumb scared. That's why he killed Steve. Jest you +gimme a gun and watch me ride him down! I aim to settle with that Jay." +</P> + +<P> +Cotton was talking to Houck of the T-Bar-T, blending fact and fiction +in a blustering attempt to make himself believe he had played the man. +During his long, foot-weary journey to the ranch he had roughly +invented this speech and tried to memorize it. Through repetition he +came to believe that he was telling the truth. Incidentally he had not +paused to catch up his horse, which was a slight oversight, considering +the trail from the Blue to his home ranch. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with the gun you're packin'?" asked Houck. +</P> + +<P> +Cotton had forgotten his own gun. +</P> + +<P> +"I—it was like this, Bill. After Young Pete killed Gary, I went back +to the shack and got my gun. At first, Andy White wasn't goin' to +leave me have it—but I tells him to fan it. I reckon he's pretty nigh +home by now." +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you said you didn't see White after the shooting—that he +forked his horse and rode for the Concho? Cotton, you're lyin' so fast +you're like to choke." +</P> + +<P> +"Honest, Bill! If I'd 'a' had my gun…" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, hell! Don't try to swing that bluff. Where's your horse?" +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't ketch him, honest." +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you said you caught him in the brush and tied him to a tree +and Young Annersley threatened to kill you if you went for your saddle." +</P> + +<P> +"That's right—honest, Bill, that's what he said." +</P> + +<P> +"Then how is it that Bobby Lent caught your horse strayin' in more 'n a +hour ago? Dam' if I believe a word you say. You're plumb crazy." +</P> + +<P> +"Honest, Bill. I hope to die if Steve Gary ain't layin' over there +with two holes in him. He's sure dead. Do you think I footed it all +the way jest because I like walkin'?" +</P> + +<P> +Houck frowned and shook his head. "You say him and Young Pete had come +to words?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep; about ole man Annersley. Steve was tellin' me about the raid +when Pete steps up and tells him to say it over ag'in. Steve started +to talk when Pete cuts down on him—twict. My God, he was quick! I +never even seen him draw." +</P> + +<P> +"Did Gary say <I>he</I> was the one that plugged Annersley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep. Said he did it—and asked Pete what he was goin' to do about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then Steve was drunk or crazy. You go git a horse and burn the trail +to Concho. Tell Sutton that Young Pete Annersley killed Gary, up to +the Blue Mesa. Tell him we're out after Young Pete. Can you git that +straight?" +</P> + +<P> +"What if the sheriff was to pinch me for bein' in that scrap?" +</P> + +<P> +"You! In a gun-fight? No. He wouldn't believe that if you told him +so. You jest tell Sutton what I said, and git goin'! Don't lie to +him—or he'll spot it and pinch you dam' quick." +</P> + +<P> +With Cotton gone, Houck saddled up and rode out to where one of his men +was mending fence. "Take your horse and git all the boys you can reach +before night. Young Pete Annersley shot Steve over to the Blue this +mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +The cowboy, unlike Cotton, whistled his surprise, dropped his tools, +mounted, and was off before Houck had reined back toward the +ranch-house. +</P> + +<P> +It was near twelve that night when a quiet band of riders dismounted at +the Annersley cabin, separated, and trailed off in the darkness to look +for Gary. One of them found him where he had fallen and signaled with +his gun. They carried Gary to the cabin. In the flickering light of +the open stove they saw that he was still alive. There was one chance +in a thousand that he could recover. They washed his wounds and one of +the men set out toward Concho, to telephone to Enright for a doctor. +The rest grouped around the stove and talked in low tones, waiting for +daylight. "Chances are the kid went south," said Houck, half to +himself. +</P> + +<P> +"How about young White?" queried a cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno. Either he rode with Pete Annersley or he's back at the +Concho. Daylight'll tell." +</P> + +<P> +"If Steve could talk—" said the cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess Steve is done for," said Houck. "I knew Young Pete was a +tough kid—but I didn't figure he'd try to down Steve." +</P> + +<P> +"Supposin' they both had a hand in it—White and Young Pete?" +</P> + +<P> +Houck shook his head. "Anybody got any whiskey?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Some one produced a flask. Houck knelt and raised Gary's head, tilting +the flask carefully. Presently Gary's lips moved and his chest heaved. +</P> + +<P> +"Who was it? White?" questioned Houck. +</P> + +<P> +Gary moved his head in the negative. +</P> + +<P> +"Young Pete?" Gary's white lips shaped to a faint whisper—"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +One of the men folded a slicker and put it under Gary's head. +</P> + +<P> +Houck stood up. "I guess it's up to us to get Pete Annersley." +</P> + +<P> +"You can count me out," said a cowboy immediately. "Steve was allus +huntin' trouble and it looks like he found it this trip. They's plenty +without me to ride down the kid. Young Pete may be bad—but I figure +he had a dam' good excuse when he plugged Steve, here. You can count +me out." +</P> + +<P> +"And me," said another. "If young Pete was a growed man—" +</P> + +<P> +"Same here," interrupted the third. "Any kid that's got nerve enough +to down Steve has got a right to git away with it. If you corner him +he's goin' to fight—and git bumped off by a bunch of growed men—mebby +four to one. That ain't my style." +</P> + +<P> +Houck turned to several cowboys who had not spoken. They were Gary's +friends, of his kind—in a measure. "How is it, boys?" asked Houck. +</P> + +<P> +"We stick," said one, and the others nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you boys"—and Houck indicated the first group—"can ride back to +the ranch. Or, here, Larkin, you can stay with Steve till the doc +shows up. The rest of you can drift." +</P> + +<P> +Without waiting for dawn the men who had refused to go out after Pete +rode back along the hill-trail to the ranch. But before they left, +Houck took what hastily packed food they had and distributed it among +the posse, who packed it in their saddle-pockets. The remaining +cowboys lay down for a brief sleep. They were up at dawn, and after a +hasty breakfast set out looking for tracks. Houck himself discovered +Andy White's tracks leading from the spot where Gary had been found, +and calling the others together, set off across the eastern mesa. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Andy White was sleeping soundly in a coulee many miles from +the homestead, and just within sight of a desert ranch, to which he had +planned to ride at daybreak, ask for food and depart, leaving the +impression that he was Pete Annersley in haste to get beyond the reach +of the law. He had stopped at the coulee because he had found grass +and water for his horse and because he did not want to risk being found +at the ranch-house. A posse would naturally head for the ranch to +search and ask questions. Fed and housed he might oversleep and be +caught. Then his service to Pete would amount to little. But if he +rode in at daybreak, ahead of the posse, ate and departed, leaving a +hint as to his assumed identity, he could mislead them a day longer at +least. He built all his reasoning on the hope that the posse would +find and follow his tracks. +</P> + +<P> +Under the silent stars he slept, his head on his saddle, and near him +lay Pete's black sombrero. +</P> + +<P> +In the disillusioning light of morning, that which Andy had taken to be +a ranch-house dwindled to a goat-herder's shack fronted by a +brush-roofed lean-to. Near it was a diminutive corral and a sun-faded +tent. The old Indian herder seemed in no way surprised to see a young +rider dismount and approach cautiously—for Andy had entered into the +spirit of the thing. He paused to glance apprehensively back and +survey the western horizon. Andy greeted the Indian, who grunted his +acknowledgment in the patois of the plains. +</P> + +<P> +"Any vaqueros ride by here this morning?" queried Andy. +</P> + +<P> +The herder shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I guess I got time to eat," said Andy. +</P> + +<P> +A faint twinkle touched the old Indian's eyes, but his face was as +expressionless as a dried apple. +</P> + +<P> +"Si," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"But not a whole lot of time," asserted Andy. +</P> + +<P> +The Indian rose and fetched a pail of goat's milk and some tortillas +from the shack. He shuffled back to his hermitage and reappeared with +a tin cup. Andy, who meanwhile had consumed one leathery tortilla, +shook his head. "Never mind the cup, amigo." He tilted the pail and +drank—paused for breath, and drank again. He set the pail down empty. +"I was some dry," he said, smiling. "Got any more of these rawhide +flapjacks?" +</P> + +<P> +The herder nodded, stooped to enter the shack, and came out with a +half-dozen of the tortillas, which Andy rolled and stuffed in his +saddle-pocket. "Mighty good trail bread!" he said enthusiastically. +"You can't wear 'em out." +</P> + +<P> +Again the herder nodded, covertly studying this young rider who did not +look like an outlaw, whose eye was clear and untroubled. Well, what +did it matter?—a man must eat. +</P> + +<P> +The old Indian had given unquestioningly from his poverty, with the +simple dignity of true hospitality. As for who this stranger was, of +what he had done—that was none of his affair. A man must eat. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm payin' for this,"—and Andy proffered a silver dollar. +</P> + +<P> +The other turned the piece round in his fingers as though hesitating to +accept it. +</P> + +<P> +"Si. But has not the señor some little money?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, amigo. Keep it." +</P> + +<P> +The herder shook his head, and held up two fingers. Andy smiled. "I +get you! You don't aim to bank all your wealth in one lump. Lemme +see? All I got left is a couple of two-bit pieces. Want 'em?" The +herder nodded and took the two coins and handed back the dollar. Then +he padded stolidly to the shack and reappeared, bearing a purple velvet +jacket which was ornamented with buttons made from silver quarters. He +held it up, indicating that two of the buttons were missing. +"Muchacha," he grunted, pointing toward the south. +</P> + +<P> +"I get you. Your girl is out looking after the goats, and you aim to +kind of surprise her with a full set of buttons when she gets back. +She'll ask you right quick where you got 'em, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +A faint grin touched the old Indian's mouth. The young vaquero was of +the country. He understood. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it beats me," said Andy. "Now, a white man is all for the big +money. He'd take the dollar, get it changed, and be two-bits ahead, +every time. But I got to drift along. Say, amigo, if any of my +friends come a-boilin down this way, jest tell 'em that Pete—that's +me—was in a hurry, and headed east. Sabe?" +</P> + +<P> +"Si." +</P> + +<P> +"Pete—with the black sombrero." Andy touched his hat. +</P> + +<P> +"Si. 'Pete.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Adios. Wisht I could take a goat along. That milk was sure +comfortin'." +</P> + +<P> +The herder watched Andy mount and ride away. Then he plodded back to +the shack and busied himself patiently soldering tiny rings on the +silver pieces, that the set of buttons for his daughter's jacket might +be complete. He knew that the young stranger must be a fugitive, +otherwise he would not have ridden into the desert so hurriedly. He +had not inquired about water, nor as to feed for his horse. Truly he +was in great haste! +</P> + +<P> +Life meant but three things to the old Indian. Food, sleep, and +physical freedom. He had once been in jail and had suffered as only +those used to the open sky suffer when imprisoned. The young vaquero +had eaten, and had food with him. His eyes had shown that he was not +in need of sleep. Yet he had all but said there would be men looking +for him. +</P> + +<P> +The old Indian rose and picked up a blanket. In the doorway he paused, +surveying the western horizon. Satisfied that no one was in sight, he +padded out to where Andy had tied his horse and swept the blanket +across the tracks in the loose sand. Walking backwards he drew the +blanket after him, obliterating the hoof-prints until he came to a rise +where the ground was rocky. Without haste he returned and squatted in +the shack. He was patiently working on a silver piece when some one +called out peremptorily. +</P> + +<P> +The old Indian's face was expressionless as he nodded to the posse of +cowboys. +</P> + +<P> +"Seen anything of a young fella ridin' a blue roan and sportin' a black +hat?" asked Houck. +</P> + +<P> +The Indian shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"He's lyin'," asserted a cowboy. "Comes as natural as breathin' to +him. We trailed a hoss to this here wickiup"—the hot lust of the +man-hunt was in the cowboy's eyes as he swung down—"and we aim to see +who was ridin' him!" +</P> + +<P> +Houck and his three companions sat their horses as the fourth member of +the posse shouldered the old Indian aside and entered the shack. +"Nothin' in there," he said, as he reappeared, "but somebody's been +here this mornin'." And he pointed to the imprint of a high-heeled +boot in the sand of the yard. +</P> + +<P> +"Which way did he ride?" asked Houck, indicating the footprint. +</P> + +<P> +The old herder shook his head. "Quien sabe?" he grunted, shrugging his +shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Who knows, eh? Well, you know—for one. And you're goin' to say—or +there'll be a heap big bonfire right here where your shack is." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile one of the men, who had pushed out into the desert and was +riding in a circle, hallooed and waved his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"He headed this way," he called. "Some one dragged a blanket over his +trail." +</P> + +<P> +The cowboy who was afoot strode up to the herder. "We'll learn you to +play hoss with this outfit!" He swung his quirt and struck the Indian +across the face. The old Indian stepped back and stiffened. His +sunken eyes blazed with hatred, but he made no sound or sign. He knew +that if he as much as lifted his hand the men would kill him. To him +they were the law, searching for a fugitive. The welt across his face +burned like the sear of fire—the cowardly brand of hatred on the +impassive face of primitive fortitude! This because he had fed a +hungry man and delayed his pursuers. +</P> + +<P> +Long after the posse had disappeared down the far reaches of the +desert, the old Indian stood gazing toward the east, vaguely wondering +what would have happened to him had he struck a white man across the +face with a quirt. He would have been shot down—and his slayer would +have gone unpunished. He shook his head, unable to understand the +white man's law. His primitive soul knew a better law, "an eye for an +eye and a tooth for a tooth," a law that knew no caste and was as old +as the sun-swept spaces of his native land. He was glad that his +daughter had not been there. The white men might have threatened and +insulted her. If they had … The old herder padded to his shack +and squatted down, to finish soldering the tiny rings on the buttons +for his daughter's jacket. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLACK SOMBRERO +</H3> + +<P> +When Andy had ridden far enough to feel secure in turning and riding +north—in fact, his plan was to work back to the Concho in a wide +circle—he reined in and dismounted. From a low ridge he surveyed the +western desert, approximated his bearings, and had his foot in the +stirrup when he saw four tiny dots that bobbed up and down on the +distant sky-line of the west. He had left an easy trail to follow and +the pursuers were riding hard. They were still a long distance from +him. He led his horse down the far side of the ridge and mounted. He +rode straight east for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then he turned and +at right angles to his trail sped north behind the long, low, sandy +ridge. He could not be seen until the posse had topped it—and even +then it was probable they would fling down the slope, following his +tracks until they came to where he had turned. Straight ahead of him +the ridge swung to the left. In half an hour or so he would again +cross it, which he hoped to do before he was discovered. Once over the +ridge, he would head for the Concho. To follow him would mean that his +pursuers would be riding directly away from Pete's trail. Many long +desert miles lay between Andy and the Concho, but he argued that his +horse was as fresh as the horses of his pursuers. He would give them a +good run. If they overtook him before they reached the ranch, the most +they could do would be to curse him for misleading them. He reasoned +that the posse was from the T-Bar-T—that at best the sheriff could not +have been advised of the shooting in time to join them. They would +have no official right to detain him or interfere with his +progress—once they knew who he was. +</P> + +<P> +A trot, a lope, then back to a swinging trot again—and as yet no +riders had appeared on the hills. Andy was making good time. The +crest of the ridge shimmered in the noon sun. At this pace he would be +over and down the western side before they saw him. +</P> + +<P> +When the posse finally caught sight of the man they were after far out +across the level and riding toward the west, they knew at once that he +was making for the Concho and what protection his fellows might afford +him under the circumstances. This did not fit into their scheme. The +man-hunt had tuned their pulses to a high pitch. They wanted to lay +hands on Gary's slayer—to disarm him and bring him into the town of +Concho themselves—or, if he showed fight, to "get" him. They forgot +that he was little more than a boy. He was an enemy—and potently +dangerous. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Young Pete," said a cowboy. "I know him by that black hat." +</P> + +<P> +Plying quirt and spur the posse flung down the ridge and out across the +plain below. They would ride their quarry down before he reached the +boundary of the Concho—before he got among his friends. +</P> + +<P> +Andy turned and glanced back. They were gaining on him. He knew that +his own horse was doing his best. Again he glanced back. The riders +were forcing their horses to a terrific pace that could not last long. +In a mile or so they would be close enough to use their rifles. But +the harder they rode the better Andy liked it. They would be in sorry +shape to make the long ride south after Pete, when they realized that +they were chasing the wrong man. If he could get out of it without +getting shot, he would consider himself lucky. Ahead of him lay a flat +of brushless land offering no shelter. He hoped that his horse would +not be killed by a chance shot. In that event his pride would force +him to retaliate, until he was either killed or captured. He had about +made up his mind to rein up and surrender when he heard the singing +<I>whizz-zip</I> of a bullet that sprayed sand ahead of him. Then came the +faint <I>pop</I> of a rifle far behind. He pulled up, swiftly unbuckled his +belt, and hung his gun on the saddle-horn. Then he stepped away from +his horse—an unconsciously fine thing to do—and turned toward the +distant posse. Again came that shrill, sinister <I>whizz-zip</I> and he was +standing bareheaded in the glaring sun as the black sombrero spun round +and settled lightly in the sand beside him. He wisely thrust up his +hands—arguing that if the posse could see to shoot with such accuracy +they could see and possibly appreciate his attitude. He felt outraged, +and wanted to fight. He did not realize at the moment that his +pursuers were acting in good faith according to their viewpoint. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile they flung toward him, spreading out fanwise in case of some +possible treachery. Without moving a muscle Andy stood with his hands +raised, blinkingly trying to identify each individual rider. +</P> + +<P> +There was Houck on his big gray cow-horse. To the left rode Simpson, +known all over the range as Gary's close friend. Andy half-expected to +see Cotton with the posse, but Cotton was not there. He did not +recognize the two riders on the wings of the posse. +</P> + +<P> +"Mornin', fellas!" he called as the cowboys swept up. "What's the +idea?" +</P> + +<P> +"This!" snarled Simpson as he took out his rope. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on!" cried Houck, dismounting and covering White. "This ain't +our man! It's young Andy White!" +</P> + +<P> +"You might 'a' found that out before you started shootin'," said Andy, +lowering his hands. "My gun's on the saddle there." +</P> + +<P> +Despite the fact that it was Andy White, Houck took no chances, but +searched him. Then, "what in hell was <I>your</I> idea?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me? Why, I was ridin' to the Concho when one of you guys shot my hat +off. I reckoned it was about time to pull up." +</P> + +<P> +"Ridin' to the Concho, eh? I suppose you'll say next that you got lost +and thought the Concho was over this way?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. I was ridin' to the Concho to report the shootin' of Steve Gary +to my boss." +</P> + +<P> +Houck, who had imagined that White would disclaim any knowledge of the +shooting until forced to admit it, took a new tack. "Where's Pete +Annersley?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's jest what I was wonderin'. Last time I see him he was fannin' +it east. I took out after him—but I must 'a' missed him." +</P> + +<P> +"That'll do to tell the sheriff. We want to know what you know about +the shootin'-up of Steve." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'. I was over by the shack waiting for Pete when I thought I +heard a couple of shots. Didn't pay no attention to that—'cause Pete +was always poppin' his gun at somethin'. Then pretty soon Pete walks +in, and I go out with him and help him ketch his hoss. He don't say +much—and I don't. Then first thing I know he lights on that little +buckskin hoss of his—" +</P> + +<P> +"And forgets his hat," interrupted Houck. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. He was wearin' a hat the last I seen of him." +</P> + +<P> +"And ridin' a buckskin cayuse, eh? Now Cotton says it was a blue roan." +</P> + +<P> +Andy laughed. "That hombre Cotton's got mighty poor eyesight. Why, he +couldn't see good enough to ketch up his own hoss. Pete told me Cotton +set out for home afoot. I didn't see him, but I'd take Pete's word +against Cotton's any time." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby you think we're takin' your word about Young Pete—and the +shootin'?? +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"We can make you talk!" threatened Simpson. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you could," said Andy easily. "Four to one—and my gun +hangin' over there on the saddle-horn. But suppose you did? How are +you goin' to' know I'll talk straight or lie to you? You ain't throwed +any big scare into me yet"—and Andy stooped and caught up his hat and +thrust his finger through the hole in the crown—"because I ain't done +nothin' to be scared about. I ain't shot nobody and I ain't seen +nobody get shot. Cotton could 'a' told you that." +</P> + +<P> +"That's right," asserted Houck reluctantly. "White here had nothin' to +do with the shootin'. Cotton said that. We lost some time trailin' +you"—Houck turned to Andy—"but we don't aim to lose any more. Which +way did young Pete ride?" +</P> + +<P> +Andy laughed. "You would say I lied if I told you. But I'm goin' to +tell you straight. Young Pete took the old Ranger Trail south, through +the timber. And I want to tell you gentlemen he was goin' like hell +a-smokin' when I seen him last. Mebby you don't believe that? And +there's somethin' else—that old Ranger Trail forks three times this +side of Cienegas—and she forks twice afore she crosses the line. +She's a dim trail when she's doin' her best acrost the rocks, and +they's places in her where she's as blind as a dead ox. Water is as +scarce as cow-punchers at a camp-meetin' and they ain't no feed this +side of Showdown. And Showdown never tore its shirt tryin' to be +polite to strangers. I been there. 'Course, when it comes to rustlers +and cardsharps and killers—but you fellas know how that is. I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, boys," said Houck, reining round. "White here is puttin' up +a talk to hold us—and Young Pete's usin' the time." +</P> + +<P> +Andy watched them ride away, a queer expression lighting his face. +"They hate like the Ole Scratch to believe me—and they are hatin' +themselves for havin' to." +</P> + +<P> +He pulled off Pete's hat and turned it over, gazing at the two little +round holes curiously. "Pete, old scout," he said, smiling +whimsically, "here's hopin' they never come closer to gettin' you than +they did to gettin' me. Keep a-ridin'—for you sure got to be that +'Ridin' Kid from Powder River' this journey—and then some." +</P> + +<P> +Andy turned the black sombrero round in his hands. "All this here +hocus comes of the killin' of a old man that never lifted a finger +against nobody—and as game a kid as ever raked a hoss with a spur. +But one killin' always means more. I ain't no gunman—or no killer. +But, by cracky! some of my ideas has changed since I got that hole in +my hat. I wisht I'd 'a' rode with Pete. I wouldn't ask nothin' better +right now than to stand back to back with him, out in the open +somewhere and let 'em come! Because why? Because the only law that a +man's got in this country is hisself—and if he's right, why, crossin' +over with his gun explainin' his idees ain't the worst way to go. +Anyhow, it ain't any worse than gettin' throwed from a bronc and +gettin' his neck broke or gettin' stomped out in a stampede. Them's +just regular, common ways of goin' out. I just wonder how Pete is +makin' it?" +</P> + +<P> +Andy put on his hat, glanced at the sun, and strode to his pony. Far +across the eastern desert he saw the posse—a mere moving dot against +the blue. "Wolf-hungry to make a killin' because they're foolin' +themselves that they're actin' out the law! Well, come on, Chico, old +hoss, we got to make home before sundown." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SPIDER +</H3> + +<P> +Where the old Ranger Trail, crossing the Blue Mesa, leaves the high +mesa and meanders off into the desert, there is a fork which leads +southwest, to the Apache country—a grim and waterless land—and +finally swings south toward the border. Pete dismounted at this fork, +pulled up his slackened cinches, and making certain that he was leaving +a plain track, rode down the main trail for half a mile. Then he +reined his pony to a bare spot on the grass-dotted tufa, and again +dismounted. He looped Blue Smoke's fore feet, then threw him, and +pulled his shoes with a pair of wire nippers, and stowed the shoes in +his saddle-pockets. +</P> + +<P> +He again rode directly down the trail, surmising that the occasional +track of a barefoot horse would appear natural enough should the posse, +whom he knew would follow him, split up and ride both trails. Farther +on he again swung from the trail to the tufa, never slackening pace, +and rode across the broken ground for several miles. He had often seen +the unshod and unbranded ponies of the high country run along a trail +for a mile or so and then dash off across the open. Of course, if the +posse took the direct trail to the border, paying no attention to +tracks, they would eventually overtake him. Pete was done with the +companionship of men who allowed the wanton killing of a man like +Annersley to go unpunished. He knew that if he were caught, he would +most probably be hanged or imprisoned for the shooting of Gary—if he +were not killed in being taken. The T-Bar-T interests ruled the +courts. Moreover, his reputation was against him. Ever since the raid +on Annersley's place Pete had been pointed out as the "kid who stood +off the raiders and got two of them." And Pete knew that the very folk +who seemed proud of the fact would be the first to condemn him for the +killing of Gary. He was outlawed—not for avenging the death of his +foster-father, but actually because he had defended his own life, a +fact difficult to establish in court and which would weigh little +against the evidence of the six or eight men who had heard him +challenge Gary at the round-up. Jim Bailey had been right. Men talked +too much as a usual thing. Gary had talked too much. +</P> + +<P> +Pete realized that his loyalty to the memory of Annersley had earned +him disrepute. He resented the injustice of this, and all his old +hatred of the law revived. Yet despite all logic of justice as against +law—he could see Gary's hand clutching against his chest, his staring +eyes, and the red ooze starting through those tense fingers—Pete +reasoned that had he not been so skilled and quick with a gun, he would +be in Gary's place now. As it was, he was alive and had a good horse +between his knees. +</P> + +<P> +To ride an unshod horse in the southern desert is to invite disaster. +Toward evening, Pete pulled up at a water-hole, straightened the nails +in the horseshoes and tacked them on again with a piece of rock. They +would hold until he reached the desert town of Showdown—a place of +ill-repute and a rendezvous for outlawry and crime. +</P> + +<P> +He rode on until he came within sight of the town—a dim huddle of low +buildings in the starlight. He swung off the trail, hobbled his horse, +fastened his rope to the hobbles, and tied that in turn to a long, +heavy slab of rock, and turned in. He would not risk losing his horse +in this desert land. At best a posse could not reach Showdown before +noon the next day, and rather than blunder into Showdown at night and +take unnecessary risks, he decided to rest, and ride in at sunup, when +he would be able to see what he was doing and better estimate the +possibilities of getting food for himself and his horse and of finding +refuge in some out-of-the-way ranch or homestead. In spite of his +vivid imaginings he slept well. At dawn he caught up his pony and rode +into town. +</P> + +<P> +Showdown boasted some fifteen or eighteen low-roofed adobes, the most +pretentious being the saloon. These all faced a straggling road which +ran east and west, disappearing at either end of the town as though +anxious to obliterate itself in the clean sand of the desert. The +environs of Showdown were garnished with tin cans and trash, dirt and +desolation. Unlike the ordinary cow-town this place was not sprightly, +but morose, with an aspect of hating itself for existing. Even the +railroad swung many miles to the south as though anxious to leave the +town to its own pernicious isolation. +</P> + +<P> +The fixed population consisted of a few Mexicans and one white man, +known as "The Spider," who ran the saloon and consequently owned +Showdown body and—but Showdown had no soul. +</P> + +<P> +Men arrived and departed along the several desert trails that led in +and out of the town. These men seldom tarried long. And they usually +came alone, perchance from the Blue, the Gila, the T-Bar-T, or from +below the border, for their business was with the border rustlers and +parasites. Sheriffs of four counties seldom disturbed the place, +because a man who had got as far south as Showdown was pretty hard to +apprehend. From there to the border lay a trackless desert. Showdown +was a rendezvous for that inglorious legion, "The Men Who Can't Come +Back," renegades who when below the line worked machine guns for +whichever side of the argument promised the more loot. Horse- and +cattle-thieves, killers, escaped convicts, came and went—ominous birds +of passage, the scavengers of war and banditry. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider was lean, with legs warped by long years in the saddle. He +was called The Spider because of his physical attributes as well as +because of his attitude toward life. He never went anywhere, yet he +accumulated sustenance. He usually had a victim tangled in his web. +It was said that The Spider never let a wounded outlaw die for lack of +proper attention if he considered the outlaw worth saving—as an +investment. And possibly this was the secret of his power, for he was +ever ready to grub-stake or doctor any gentleman in need or wounded in +a desert affair—and he had had a large experience in caring for +gun-shot wounds. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, dismounting at the worn hitching-rail, entered the saloon, nodded +casually to The Spider, and called for a drink. The Spider, who always +officiated at the bar for politic reasons, aside from the selling of +liquor, noticed that the young stranger's eyes were clear and +steady—that he showed no trace of hard night-riding; yet he had +arrived in Showdown at sunup. As Pete drank, The Spider sized up his +horse—which looked fresh. He had already noticed that Pete's gun hung +well down and handy, and assumed correctly that it was not worn for +ornament. The Spider knew that the drink was a mere formality—that +the stranger was not a drinking man in the larger sense. +</P> + +<P> +Neither spoke until a Mexican, quite evidently in haste, rode up and +entered the saloon. The Mexican bore the strange news that four riders +were expected to reach Showdown that day—perhaps by noon. Then The +Spider spoke, and Pete was startled by the voice, which was pitched in +a high key yet was little more than a whisper. +</P> + +<P> +The Mexican began to expostulate shrilly. The Spider had cursed him +for a loud-mouthed fool. Again came that sinister whisper, like the +rush of a high wind in the reeds. The Mexican turned and silently left +the room. When Pete, who had pretended absorption in thought, glanced +up, the Spider's eyes were fixed on Pete's horse, which had swung +around as the Mexican departed. The Spider's deep-set eyes shifted to +Pete, who smiled. The Spider nodded. Interpreted this would have +read: "I see you ride a horse with the Concho brand." And Pete's eyes +had retorted: "I sure do. I was waiting for you to say that." +</P> + +<P> +Still The Spider had not addressed his new guest nor had Pete uttered a +word. It was a sort of cool, deliberate duel of will power. Pete +turned his head and surveyed the long room leisurely. The Spider +pushed the bottle toward him, silently inviting him to drink again. +Pete shook his head. The Spider hobbled from behind the bar and moving +quickly across the room flung open the back door, discovering a patio +set with tables and chairs. Pete nodded. +</P> + +<P> +They were establishing a tentative understanding without speech. The +test was hard for Pete. The Spider was uncanny—though quick of +movement and shifty of eye—intensely alive withal. +</P> + +<P> +As for The Spider himself, he was not displeased. This was but a +youth, yet a youth who was not unfamiliar with the fine points of a +rendezvous. The back door opened on a patio and the door in the wall +of the patio opened on a corral. The corral bars opened to the +desert—Pete had almost sensed that, without seeing farther than the +patio, and had nodded his approval, without speaking. The Spider +considered this highly commendable. +</P> + +<P> +Pete knew at a glance that The Spider was absolutely without +honor—that his soul was as crooked as his badly bowed legs; and that +he called no man friend and meant it. +</P> + +<P> +And The Spider knew, without other evidence than his own eyes found, +that this young stranger would not hesitate to kill him if sufficient +provocation offered. Nor did this displease the autocrat of Showdown +in the least. He was accustomed to dealing with such men. Yet one +thing bothered him. Had the stranger made a get-away that would bring +a posse to Showdown—as the Mexican had intimated? If so the sooner +the visitor left, the better. If he were merely some cowboy looking +for easy money and excitement, that was a different matter. Or perhaps +he had but stolen a horse, or butchered and sold beef that bore a +neighbor's brand. Yet there was something about Pete that impressed +The Spider more deeply than mere horse- or cattle-stealing could. The +youth's eye was not the eye of a thief. He had not come to Showdown to +consort with rustlers. He was somewhat of a puzzle—but The Spider, +true to his name, was silently patient. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile the desert sun rolled upward and onward, blazing down on the +huddled adobes, and slowly filtering into the room. With his back to +the bar, Pete idly flicked bits of a broken match at a knot-hole in the +floor. Tired of that, he rolled a cigarette with one hand, and +swiftly. Pete's hands were compact, of medium size, with the finger +joints lightly defined—the hands of a conjuror—or, as The Spider +thought, of a born gunman. And Pete was always doing something with +his hands, even when apparently oblivious to everything around him. A +novice at reading men would have considered him nervous. He was far +from nervous. This was proven to The Spider's satisfaction when Malvey +entered—"Bull" Malvey, red-headed, bluff and huge, of a gaunt frame, +with large-knuckled hands and big feet. Malvey tossed a coin on the +bar noisily, and in that one act Pete read him for what he was—a man +who "bullied" his way through life with much bluster and profanity, but +a man who, if he boasted, would make good his boast. What appeared to +be hearty good-nature in Malvey was in reality a certain blatantly +boisterous vigor—a vigor utterly soulless, and masking a nature at +bottom as treacherous as The Spider's—but in contrast squalid and +mean. Malvey would steal five dollars. The Spider would not touch a +job for less than five hundred. While cruel, treacherous, and a +killer, The Spider had nothing small or mean about him. And subtle to +a degree, he hated the blunt-spoken, blustering Malvey, but for reasons +unadvertised, called him friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Have a drink?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks." And Pete poured himself a noticeably small quantity. +</P> + +<P> +"This is Malvey—Bull Malvey," said The Spider, hesitating for Pete to +name himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Pete's my name. I left the rest of it to home." +</P> + +<P> +Malvey laughed. "That goes. How's things over to the Concho?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't been there since yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +The Spider blinked, which was a sign that he was pleased. He never +laughed. +</P> + +<P> +Malvey winked at The Spider. "You ain't ridin' back that way to-day, +mebby? I'd like to send word—" +</P> + +<P> +Pete shook his head. "Nope. I aim to stay right here a spell." +</P> + +<P> +"If you're intendin' to <I>keep</I> that horse out there, perhaps you'd like +to feed him." And The Spider indicated the direction of the corral +with a twist of the head. +</P> + +<P> +"Which is correct," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Help yourself," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"I get you," said Pete significantly; and he turned and strode out. +</P> + +<P> +"What in hell is he talkin' about?" queried Malvey. +</P> + +<P> +"His horse." +</P> + +<P> +Malvey frowned. "Some smooth kid, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +The Spider nodded. +</P> + +<P> +Pete appreciated that his own absence was desired; that these men were +quietly curious to find out who he was—and what he had done that +brought him to Showdown. But Malvey knew nothing about Pete, nor of +any recent trouble over Concho way. And Pete, unsaddling his pony, +knew that he would either make good with The Spider or else he would +make a mistake, and then there would be no need for further subterfuge. +Pete surveyed the corral and outbuildings. The whole arrangement was +cleverly planned. He calculated from the position of the sun that it +lacked about three hours of noon. Well, so far he had played his hand +with all the cards on the table—card for card with The Spider alone. +Now there would be a new deal. Pete would have to play accordingly. +</P> + +<P> +When he again entered the saloon, from the rear, The Spider and Malvey +were standing out in the road, gazing toward the north. "I see only +three of them," he heard The Spider say in his peculiar, high-pitched +voice. And Pete knew that the speech was intended for his ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. Four!" said Malvey positively. +</P> + +<P> +Pete leaned his elbow on the bar and watched them. Malvey was +obviously acting his part, but The Spider's attitude seemed sincere. +"Pete," he called, "Malvey says there are four riders drifting in from +the north. I make it three." +</P> + +<P> +"You're both wrong and you got about three hours to find it out in," +said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Malvey and The Spider glanced at one another. Evidently Pete was more +shrewd than they had suspected. And evidently he would be followed to +Showdown. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a killing," whispered The Spider. "I thought that it was. How +do you size him up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty smooth—for a kid," said Malvey. +</P> + +<P> +"Worth a blanket?" queried The Spider, which meant, worth hiding from +the law until such time as| a blanket was not necessary. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd say so." +</P> + +<P> +They turned and entered the saloon. The Spider crept from the middle +of his web and made plain his immediate desire. "Strangers are welcome +in Showdown, riding single," he told Pete. "We aren't hooked up to +entertain a crowd. If you got friends coming—friends that are +suffering to see you—why, you ain't here when they come. <I>And you +ain't been here</I>. If nobody is following your smoke, why, take your +time." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be takin' my hoss when he gits done feedin'," stated Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider nodded approval. Showdown had troubles of its own. +</P> + +<P> +"Malvey, did you say you were riding south?" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh." +</P> + +<P> +"Kind of funny—but I was headin' south myself," said Pete. "Bein' a +stranger I might git lost alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Which wouldn't scare you none," guffawed, Malvey. +</P> + +<P> +"Which wouldn't scare me none," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"But a crowd of friends—riding in sudden—" suggested The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"I 'd be plumb scared to death," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I got your number," asserted The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Then hang her on the rack. But hang her on the right hook." +</P> + +<P> +"One, two, or three?" queried The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Make it three," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider glanced sharply at Pete, who met his eye with a gaze in +which there was both a challenge and a confession. Yet there was no +boastful pride in the confession. It was as though Pete had stated the +simple fact that he had killed a man in self-defense—perhaps more than +one man—and had earned the hatred of those who had the power to make +him pay with his life, whether he were actually guilty or not. +</P> + +<P> +If this young stranger had three notches in his gun, and thus far had +managed to evade the law, there was a possibility of his becoming a +satellite among The Spider's henchmen. Not that The Spider cared in +the least what became of Pete, save that if he gave promise of becoming +useful, it would be worth while helping him to evade his pursuers this +once at least. He knew that if he once earned Pete's gratitude, he +would have one stanch friend. Moreover, The Spider was exceedingly +crafty, always avoiding trouble when possible to do so. So he set +about weaving the blanket that was to hide Pete from any one who might +become too solicitous about his welfare and so disturb the present +peace of Showdown. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider's plan was simple, and his instructions to Malvey brief. +While Pete saddled his horse, The Spider talked with Malvey. "Take him +south—to Flores's rancho. Tell Flores he is a friend of mine. When +you get a chance, take his horse, and fan it over to Blake's. Leave +the horse there. I want you to set him afoot at Flores's. When I'm +ready, I'll send for him." +</P> + +<P> +"What do I git out of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, the horse. Blake'll give you a hundred for that cayuse, if I am +any judge of a good animal." +</P> + +<P> +"He'll give me fifty, mebby. Blake ain't payin' too much for any +hosses that I fetch in." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll give you the other fifty and settle with Blake later." +</P> + +<P> +"That goes, Spider." +</P> + +<P> +The Spider and Malvey stepped out as Pete had it out with Blue Smoke in +front of the saloon. +</P> + +<P> +"We're ridin'," said Malvey, as Pete spurred his pony to the rail. +</P> + +<P> +Pete leaned forward and offered his hand to The Spider. "I'll make +this right with you," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Forget it," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +Showdown dozed in the desert heat. The street was deserted. The +Mexican who helped about the saloon was asleep in the patio. The +Spider opened a new pack of cards, shuffled them, and began a game of +solitaire. Occasionally he glanced out into the glare, blinking and +muttering to himself. Malvey and Pete had been gone about an hour when +a lean dog that had lain across from the hitching-rail, rose, shook +himself, and turned to gaze up the street. The Spider called to the +man in the patio. He came quickly. "I'm expecting visitors," said The +Spider in Mexican. The other started toward the front doorway, but The +Spider called him back with a word, and gestured to the door back of +the bar—the doorway to The Spider's private room. The Mexican entered +the room and closed the door softly, drew up a chair, and sat close to +the door in the attitude of one who listens. Presently he heard the +patter of hoofs, the grunt of horses pulled up sharply, and the tread +of men entering the saloon. The Mexican drew his gun and rested his +forearm across his knees, the gun hanging easily in his half-closed +hand. He did not know who the men were nor how The Spider had known +that they were coming. But he knew what was expected of him in case of +trouble. The Spider sat directly across from the door behind the bar. +Any one talking with him would be between him and the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess we'll have a drink—and talk later," said Houck. The Spider +glanced up from his card-game, and nodded casually. +</P> + +<P> +The sound of shuffling feet, and the Mexican knew that the strangers +were facing the bar. He softly holstered his gun. While he could not +understand English, he knew by the tone of the conversation that these +men were not the enemies of his weazened master. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Seen anything of a kind of dark-complected young fella wearin' a black +Stetson and ridin' a blue roan?" queried Houck. +</P> + +<P> +"Where was he from?" countered The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"The Concho, and ridin' a hoss with the Concho brand." +</P> + +<P> +"Wanted bad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—a whole lot. He shot Steve Gary yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"Gary of the T-Bar-T?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same—and a friend of mine," interpolated the cowboy Simpson. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh! You say he's young—just a kid?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But a dam' tough kid." +</P> + +<P> +"Pete Annersley, eh? Not the Young Pete that was mixed up in that raid +a few years ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same." +</P> + +<P> +"No—I didn't see anything of him," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"We trailed him down this way." +</P> + +<P> +The Spider nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"And we mean to keep right on ridin'—till we find him," blurted +Simpson. +</P> + +<P> +Houck realized that The Spider knew more than he cared to tell. +Simpson had blundered in stating their future plans, Houck tried to +cover the blunder. "We like to get some chuck—enough to carry us back +to the ranch." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm short on chuck," said The Spider. "If you men were +deputies—sworn in regular—why, I'd have to give it to you." +</P> + +<P> +Simpson was inclined to argue, but Houck stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess we can make it all right," he said easily. "Come on, boys!" +</P> + +<P> +Houck, wiser than his companions, realized the uselessness of searching +farther, a fact obvious even to the hot-headed Simpson when at the edge +of the town they tried to buy provisions from a Mexican and were met +with a shrug and a reiterated "No sabe." +</P> + +<P> +"And that just about settles it," said Houck as he reined his pony +round and faced north. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BULL MALVEY +</H3> + +<P> +Malvey, when not operating a machine gun for Mexican bandits, was +usually busy evading a posse on the American side of the border. +Needless to say, he knew the country well—and the country knew him +only too well. He had friends—of a kind—and he had enemies of every +description and color from the swart, black-eyed Cholas of Sonora to +the ruddy, blue-eyed Rangers of Texas. He trusted no man—and no man +who knew him trusted him—not even The Spider, though he could have +sent Malvey to the penitentiary on any one of several counts. +</P> + +<P> +Malvey had no subtlety. He simply knew the game and possessed a +tremendous amount of nerve. Like most red-headed men, he rode +rough-shod and aggressively to his goal. He "bulled" his way through, +when more capable men of equal nerve failed. +</P> + +<P> +Riding beside him across the southern desert, Young Pete could not help +noticing Malvey's hands—huge-knuckled and freckled—and Pete surmised +correctly that this man was not quick with a gun. Pete also noticed +that Malvey "roughed" his horse unnecessarily; that he was a good +rider, but a poor horseman. Pete wondered that desert life had not +taught Malvey to take better care of his horse. +</P> + +<P> +As yet Pete knew nothing of their destination—nor did he care. It was +good to be out in the open, again with a good horse under him. The +atmosphere of The Spider's saloon had been too tense for comfort. Pete +simply wanted to vacate Showdown until such time as he might return +safely. He had no plan—but he did believe that Showdown would know +him again. He could not say why. And it was significant of Young +Pete's descent to the lower plane that he should consider Showdown safe +at any time. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was in reality never more unsafe than at the present time. While +space and a swift pony between his knees argued of bodily freedom, he +felt uneasy. Perhaps because of Malvey's occasional covert glance at +Blue Smoke—for Pete saw much that he did not appear to see. Pete +became cautious forthwith, studying the lay of the land. It was a bad +country to travel, being so alike in its general aspect of butte and +arroyo, sand and cacti, that there was little to lay hold upon as a +landmark. A faint line of hills edged the far southern horizon and +there were distant hills to the east and west. They journeyed across +an immense basin, sun-smitten, desolate, unpromising. +</P> + +<P> +"Just plain hell," said Malvey as though reading Pete's thought. +</P> + +<P> +"You act like you was to home all right," laughed Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Malvey glanced quickly at his companion, alive to an implied insult, +but he saw only a young, smooth-cheeked rider in whose dark eyes shone +neither animosity nor friendliness. They jogged on, neither speaking +for many miles. When Malvey did speak, his manner was the least bit +patronizing. He could not quite understand Pete, yet The Spider had +seemed to understand him. As Pete had said nothing about the trouble +that had driven him to the desert, Malvey considered silence on that +subject emanated from a lack of trust. He wanted to gain Pete's +confidence—for the time being at least. It would make it that much +easier to follow The Spider's instructions in regard to Pete's horse. +But to all Malvey's hints Pete was either silent or jestingly +unresponsive. As the journey thinned the possibilities of Pete's +capture, it became monotonous, even to Malvey, who set about planning +how he could steal Pete's horse with the least risk to himself. Aside +from The Spider's instructions Malvey coveted the pony—a far better +horse than his own—and he was of two minds as to whether he should not +keep the pony for his own use. The Concho was a long cry from +Showdown—while the horse Malvey rode had been stolen from a more +immediate neighborhood. As for setting this young stranger afoot in +the desert, that did not bother Malvey in the least. No posse would +ride farther south than Showdown, and with Pete afoot at Flores's +rancho, Malvey would be free to follow his own will, either to Blake's +ranch or farther south and across the border. Whether Pete returned to +Showdown or not was none of Malvey's affair. To get away with the +horse might require some scheming. Malvey made no further attempt to +draw Pete out—but rode on in silence. +</P> + +<P> +They came upon the cañon suddenly, so suddenly that Pete's horse shied +and circled. Malvey, leading, put his own pony down a steep and +winding trail. Pete followed, fixing his eyes on a far green spot at +the bottom of the cañon, and the thin thread of smoke above the trees +that told of a habitation. +</P> + +<P> +At a bend in the trail, Malvey turned in the saddle: "We'll bush down +here. Friends of mine." +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded. +</P> + +<P> +They watered their horses at the thin trickle of water in the cañon-bed +and then rode slowly past a weirdly fenced field. Presently they came +to a rude adobe stable and scrub-cedar corral. A few yards beyond, and +hidden by the bushes, was the house. A pock-marked Mexican greeted +Malvey gruffly. The Spider's name was mentioned, and Pete was +introduced as his friend. The horses were corralled and fed. +</P> + +<P> +As Pete entered the adobe, a thin, listless Mexican woman—Flores's +wife—called to some one in an inner room. Presently Flores's daughter +appeared, supple of movement and smiling. She greeted Malvey as though +he were an old friend, cast down her eyes at Pete's direct gaze, and +straightway disappeared again. From the inner room came the sound of a +song. The young stranger with Malvey was good-looking—quite worth +changing her dress for. She hoped he would think her pretty. Most men +admired her—she was really beautiful in her dark, Southern way—and +some of them had given her presents—a cheap ring, a handkerchief from +Old Mexico, a pink and, to her, wonderful brush and comb. Boca +Dulzura—or "pretty mouth" of the Flores rancho—cared for no man, but +she liked men, especially when they gave her presents. +</P> + +<P> +When she came from her room, Malvey laughingly accused her of "fixing +up" because of Pete, as he teased her about her gay rebosa and her +crimson sash. She affected scorn for his talk—but was naturally +pleased. And the young stranger was staring at her, which pleased her +still more. +</P> + +<P> +"This here hombre is Pete," said Malvey. "He left his other name to +home." And he laughed raucously. +</P> + +<P> +Pete bowed, taking the introduction quite seriously. +</P> + +<P> +Boca was piqued. This young caballero did not seem anxious to know +her—like the other men. He did not smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Pete," she lisped, with a tinge of mockery in her voice. "Pete has +not learned to talk yet—he is so young?" +</P> + +<P> +Malvey slapped his thigh and guffawed. Pete stood solemnly eying him +for a moment. Then he turned to the girl. "I ain't used to talkin' to +women—'specially pretty ones—like you." +</P> + +<P> +Boca clapped her hands. "There! 'Bool' Malvey has never said anything +so clever as that." +</P> + +<P> +"Bool" Malvey frowned. But he was hungry, and Flores's wife was +preparing supper. Despite Boca's pretty mouth and fine dark eyes, +which invited to conversation, Pete felt very much alone—very much of +a stranger in this out-of-the-way household. He thought of his chum +Andy White, and of Ma Bailey and Jim, and the boys of the Concho. He +wondered what they were doing—if they were talking about him—and +Gary. It seemed a long time since he had thrown his hat in the corner +and pulled up his chair to the Concho table. He wished that he might +talk with some one—he was thinking of Jim Bailey—and tell him just +what there had been to the shooting. But with these folks… +</P> + +<P> +The shadows were lengthening. Already the lamp on Flores's table was +lighted, there in the kitchen where Malvey was drinking wine with the +old Mexican. Pete had forgotten Boca—almost forgotten where he was +for the moment, when something touched his arm. He turned a startled +face to the girl. She smiled and then whispered quickly, "It is that I +hate that 'Bool' Malvey. He is bad. Of what are you thinking, señor?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete blinked and hesitated. "Of my folks—back there," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Boca darted from him as her mother called her to help set the table. +Pete's lips were drawn in a queer line. He had no folks "back +there"—or anywhere. "It was her eyes made me feel that way," he +thought. And, "Doggone it—I'm livin'—anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +From the general conversation at the table that evening Pete gathered +that queer visitors came to this place frequently. It was a kind of +isolated, halfway house between the border and Showdown. He heard the +name of "Scar-Face," "White-Eye," "Sonora Jim," "Tio Verdugo," a rare +assortment of border vagabonds known by name to the cowboys of the high +country. The Spider was frequently mentioned. It was evident that he +had some peculiar influence over the Flores household, from the +respectful manner in which his name was received by the whole family. +And Pete, unfamiliar with the goings and comings of those men, their +quarrels, friendships, and sinister escapades, ate and listened in +silence, realizing that he too had earned a tentative place among them. +He found himself listening with keen interest to Malvey's account of a +machine-gun duel between two white men,—renegades and leaders in +opposing factions below the border,—and how one of them, shot through +and through, stuck to his gun until he had swept the plaza of enemy +sharp-shooters and had then crawled on hands and knees to the other +machine gun, killed its wounded operator with a six-shooter, and turned +the machine gun on his fleeing foes, shooting until the Mexicans of his +own company had taken courage enough to return and rescue him. "And +he's in El Paso now," concluded Malvey, "at the hospital. He writ to +The Spider for money—and The Spider sure sent it to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was he fightin' for?" queried Pete, interested in spite of himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Fightin' for? For hisself! Because he likes the game. You don't +want to git the idea that any white man is down there fightin' just to +help a lot of dirty Greasers—on either side of the scrap." +</P> + +<P> +A quick and significant glance shot from Boca's eyes to her mother's. +Old Flores ate stolidly. If he had heard he showed no evidence of it. +</P> + +<P> +"'Bull' Malvey! A darn good name for him," thought Pete. And he felt +a strange sense of shame at being in his company. He wondered if +Flores were afraid of Malvey or simply indifferent to his raw talk. +And Pete—who had never gone out of his way to make a friend—decided +to be as careful of what he said as Malvey was careless. Pete had +never lacked nerve, but he was endowed with considerable caution—a +fact that The Spider had realized and so had considered him worth the +trouble of hiding—as an experiment. +</P> + +<P> +After supper the men sat out beneath the vine-covered portal—Malvey +and Flores with a wicker-covered demijohn of wine between them—and +Pete lounging on the doorstep, smoking and gazing across the cañon at +the faint stars of an early evening. With the wine, old Flores's +manner changed from surly indifference to a superficial politeness +which in no way deceived Pete. And Malvey, whose intent was plainly to +get drunk, boasted of his doings on either side of the line. He hinted +that he had put more than one Mexican out of the way—and he slapped +Flores on the back—and Flores laughed. He spoke of raids on the +horse-herds of white men, and through some queer perversity inspired in +his drink, openly asserted that he was the "slickest hoss-thief in +Arizona," turning to Pete as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take your word for it," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"But what's the use of settin' out here like a couple of dam' buzzards +when the ladies are waitin' for us in there?" queried Malvey, and be +leered at Flores. +</P> + +<P> +The old Mexican grunted and rose stiffly. They entered the 'dobe, +Malvey insisting that Pete come in and hear Boca sing. +</P> + +<P> +"I can listen out here." Pete was beginning to hate Malvey, with the +cold, deliberate hatred born of instinct. As for old Flores, Pete +despised him heartily. A man that could hear his countrymen called "a +dirty bunch of Greasers," and have nothing to say, was a pretty poor +sort of a man. +</P> + +<P> +Disgusted with Malvey's loud talk and his raw attitude toward Boca, +Pete sat in the moon-flung shadows of the portal and smoked and gazed +at the stars. He was half-asleep when he heard Boca tell Malvey that +he was a pig and the son of a pig. Malvey laughed. There came the +sound of a scuffle. Pete glanced over his shoulder. Malvey had his +arm around the girl and was trying to kiss her. Flores was watching +them, grinning in a kind of drunken indifference. +</P> + +<P> +Pete hesitated. He was there on sufferance—a stranger. After all, +this was none of his business. Boca's father and mother were also +there… +</P> + +<P> +Boca screamed. Malvey let go of her and swung round as Pete stepped +up. "What's the idee, Malvey?" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't draw no cards in this deal," snarled Malvey. +</P> + +<P> +"Then we shuffle and cut for a new deal," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Malvey's loose mouth hardened as he backed toward the corner of the +room, where Boca cringed, her hands covering her face. Suddenly the +girl sprang up and caught Malvey's arm, "No! No!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +He flung her aside and reached for his gun—but Pete was too quick for +him. They crashed down and rolled across the room. Pete wriggled free +and rose. In a flash he realized that he was no match for Malvey's +brute strength. He had no desire to kill Malvey—but he did not intend +that Malvey should kill him. Pete jerked his gun loose as Malvey +staggered to his feet, but Pete dared not shoot on account of Boca. He +saw Malvey's hand touch the butt of his gun—when something crashed +down from behind. Pete dimly remembered Boca's white face—and the +room went black. +</P> + +<P> +Malvey strode forward. +</P> + +<P> +Old Flores dropped the neck of the shattered bottle and stood gazing +down at Pete. "The good wine is gone. I break the bottle," said +Flores, grinning. +</P> + +<P> +"To hell with the wine! Let's pack this young tin-horn out where he +won't be in the way." +</P> + +<P> +But as Malvey stooped, Boca flung herself in front of him. "Pig!" she +flamed. She turned furiously on her father, whose vacuous grin faded +as she cursed him shrilly for a coward. +</P> + +<P> +Listless and heavy-eyed came Boca's mother. Without the slightest +trace of emotion she examined Pete's wound, fetched water and washed +it, binding it up with a handkerchief. Quite as listlessly she spoke +to her husband, telling him to leave the wine and go to bed. +</P> + +<P> +Flores mumbled a protest. Malvey asked him if he let the women run the +place. Boca's mother turned to Malvey. "You will go," she said +quietly. Malvey cursed as he stepped from the room. He could face +Boca's fury, or face any man in a quarrel, but there was something in +the deathlike quietness of the sad-eyed Mexican woman that chilled his +blood. He did not know what would happen if he refused to go—yet he +knew that something would happen. It was not the first time that +Flores's wife had interfered in quarrels of the border outlaws +sojourning at the ranch. In Showdown men said that she would as soon +knife a man as not. Malvey, who had lived much in Old Mexico, had seen +women use the knife. +</P> + +<P> +He went without a word. Boca heard him speak sharply to his horse, as +she and her mother lifted Pete and carried him to the bedroom. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BOCA DULZURA +</H3> + +<P> +Just before dawn Pete became conscious that some one was sitting near +him and occasionally bathing his head with cool water. He tried to sit +up. A slender hand pushed him gently back. "It is good that you +rest," said a voice. The room was dark—he could not see—but he knew +that Boca was there and he felt uncomfortable. He was not accustomed +to being waited upon, especially by a woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Malvey?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know. He is gone." +</P> + +<P> +Again Pete tried to sit up, but sank back as a shower of fiery dots +whirled before his eyes. He realized that he had been hit pretty +hard—that he could do nothing but keep still just then. The hot pain +subsided as the wet cloth again touched his forehead and he drifted to +sleep. When he awakened at midday he was alone. +</P> + +<P> +He rose, and steadying himself along the wall, finally reached the +doorway. Old Flores was working in the distant garden-patch. Beyond +him, Boca and her mother were pulling beans. Pete stepped out dizzily +and glanced toward the corral. His horse was not there. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was a bit hasty in concluding that the squalid drama of the +previous evening (the cringing girl, the drunkenly indifferent father, +and the malevolent Malvey) had been staged entirely for his benefit. +The fact was that Malvey had been only too sincere in his boorishness +toward Boca; Flores equally sincere in his indifference, and Boca +herself actually frightened by the turn Malvey's drink had taken. That +old Flores had knocked Pete out with a bottle was the one and +extravagant act that even Malvey himself could hardly have anticipated +had the whole miserable affair been prearranged. In his drunken +stupidity Flores blindly imagined that the young stranger was the cause +of the quarrel. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, however, saw in it a frame-up to knock him out and make away with +his horse. And back of it all he saw The Spider's craftily flung web +that held him prisoner, afoot and among strangers. "They worked it +slick," he muttered. +</P> + +<P> +Boca happened to glance up. Pete was standing bareheaded in the noon +sunlight. With an exclamation Boca rose and hastened to him. Young +Pete's eyes were sullen as she begged him to seek the shade of the +portal. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's my horse?" he challenged, ignoring her solicitude. +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. "I do not know. Malvey is gone." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a cinch! You sure worked it slick." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I do." +</P> + +<P> +Pete studied her face. Despite his natural distrust, he realized that +the girl was innocent of plotting against him. He decided to confide +in her—even play the lover if necessary—and he hated pretense—to win +her sympathy and help; for he knew that if he ever needed a friend it +was now. +</P> + +<P> +Boca steadied him to the bench just outside the doorway, and fetched +water. He drank and felt better. Then she carefully unrolled the +bandage, washed the clotted blood from the wound and bound it up again. +</P> + +<P> +"It is bad that you come here," she told him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I got one friend, anyhow," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Si, I am your friend," she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't what you'd call hungry—but I reckon some coffee would kind of +stop my head from swimmin' round," suggested Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Si, I will get it." +</P> + +<P> +Pete wondered how far he could trust the girl—whether she would really +help him or whether her kindness were such as any human being would +extend to one injured or in distress—"same as a dog with his leg +broke," thought Pete. But after he drank the coffee he ceased worrying +about the future and decided to take things an they came and make the +best of them. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it is that you have killed a man?" ventured Boca, curious to +know why he was there. +</P> + +<P> +Pete hesitated, as he eyed her sharply. There seemed to be no motive +behind her question other than simple curiosity. "I've put better men +than Malvey out of business," he asserted. +</P> + +<P> +Boca eyed him with a new interest. She had thought that perhaps this +young señor had but stolen a horse or two—a most natural inference in +view of his recent associate. So this young vaquero was a boy in years +only?—and outlawed! No doubt there was a reward for his capture. +Boca had lightly fancied Young Pete the evening before; but now she +felt a much deeper interest. She quickly cautioned him to say nothing +to her father about the real reason for his being there. Rather Pete +was to say, if questioned, that he had stolen a horse about which +Malvey and he had quarreled. +</P> + +<P> +Pete scowled. "I'm no low-down hoss-thief!" he flared. +</P> + +<P> +Boca smiled. "Now it is that I know you have killed a man!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete was surprised that the idea seemed to please her. +</P> + +<P> +"But my father"—she continued—"he would sell you—for money. So it +is that you will say that you have stolen a horse." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon he would,"—and Pete gently felt the back of his head. "So +I'll tell him like you say. I'm dependin' a whole lot on you—to git +me out of this," he added. +</P> + +<P> +"You will rest," she told him, and turned to go back to her work. "I +am your friend," she whispered, pausing with her finger to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +Pete understood and nodded. +</P> + +<P> +So far he had done pretty well, he argued. Later, when he felt able to +ride, he would ask Boca to find a horse for him. He knew that there +must be saddle-stock somewhere in the cañon. Men like Flores always +kept several good horses handy for an emergency. Meanwhile Pete +determined to rest and gain strength, even while he pretended that he +was unfit to ride. When he <I>did</I> leave, he would leave in a hurry and +before old Flores could play him another trick. +</P> + +<P> +For a while Pete watched the three figures puttering about the +bean-patch. Presently he got up and stepped into the house, drank some +coffee, and came out again. He sat down on the bench and took mental +stock of his own belongings. He had a few dollars in silver, his +erratic watch, and his gun. Suddenly he bethought him of his saddle. +The sun made his head swim as he stepped out toward the corral. Yes, +his saddle and bridle hung on the corral bars, just where he had left +them. He was about to return to the shade of the portal when he +noticed the tracks of unshod horses in the dust. So old Flores had +other horses in the cañon? Well, in a day or so Pete would show the +Mexican a trick with a large round hole in it—the hole representing +the space recently occupied by one of his ponies. Incidentally Pete +realized that he was getting deeper and deeper into the meshes of The +Spider's web—and the thought spurred him to a keener vigilance. So +far he had killed three men actually in self-defense. But when he met +up with Malvey—and Pete promised himself that pleasure—he would not +wait for Malvey to open the argument. "Got to kill to live," he told +himself. "Well, I got the name—and I might as well have the game. +It's nobody's funeral but mine, anyhow." He felt, mistakenly, that his +friends had all gone back on him—a condition of mind occasioned by his +misfortunes rather than by any logical thought, for at that very moment +Jim Bailey was searching high and low for Pete in order to tell him +that Gary was not dead—but had been taken to the railroad hospital at +Enright, operated on, and now lay, minus the fragments of three or four +ribs, as malevolent as ever, and slowly recovering from a wound that +had at first been considered fatal. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete was not to know of this until long after the knowledge could +have had any value in shaping his career. Bailey, with two of his men, +traced Pete as far as Showdown, where the trail went blind, ending with +The Spider's apparently sincere assertion that he knew nothing whatever +of Peters whereabouts. +</P> + +<P> +Paradoxically, those very qualities which won him friends now kept Pete +from those friends. The last place toward which he would have chosen +to ride would have been the Concho—and the last man he would have +asked for help would have been Jim Bailey. Pete felt that he was doing +pretty well at creating trouble for himself without entangling his best +friends. +</P> + +<P> +"Got to kill to live," he reiterated. +</P> + +<P> +"Como 'sta, señor?" Old Flores had just stepped from behind the +crumbling 'dobe wall of the stable. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it ain't your fault I ain't a-furnishin' a argument for the +coyotes." +</P> + +<P> +"The señor would insult Boca. He was drunk," said Flores. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on there! Don't you go cantelopin' off with any little ole idea +like that sewed up in your hat. <I>Which</I> señor was drunk?" +</P> + +<P> +Flores shrugged his shoulders. "Who may say?" he half-whined. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can, for one," asserted Pete. "<I>You</I> was drunk and <I>Malvey</I> +was drunk, and the two of you dam' near fixed me. But that don't +count—now. Where's my hoss?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quien sabe?" +</P> + +<P> +"You make me sick," said Pete in English. Flores caught the word +"sick" and thought Pete was complaining of his physical condition. +</P> + +<P> +"The señor is welcome to rest and get well. What is done is done, and +cannot be mended. But when the señor would ride, I can find a horse—a +good horse and not a very great price." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm willin' to pay," said Pete, who thought that he had already pretty +well paid for anything he might need. +</P> + +<P> +"And a good saddle," continued Flores. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm usin' my own rig," stated Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the saddle, there, that I would sell to the señor." The old +Mexican gestured toward Pete's own saddle. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was about to retort hastily when he reconsidered. The only way to +meet trickery was with trickery. "All right," he said indifferently. +"You'll sure get all that is comin' to you." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"A DRESS—OR A RING, PERHAPS" +</H3> + +<P> +All that day Pete lay in the shade of the 'dobe feigning indifference +to Boca as she brought him water and food, until even she was deceived +by his listlessness, fearing that he had been seriously injured. Not +until evening did he show any sign of interest in her presence. With +the shadows it grew cooler. Old Flores sat in the doorway smoking. +His wife sat beside him, gazing at the far rim of the evening cañon. +Presently she rose and stepped round to where Pete and Boca were +talking. "You will go," said Boca's mother abruptly. "Boca shall find +a horse for you." +</P> + +<P> +Pete, taken by surprise,—Boca's mother had spoken just when Pete had +asked Boca where her father kept the horses,—stammered an +acknowledgment of her presence; but the Mexican woman did not seem to +hear him. "To-night," she continued, "Boca will find a horse. It is +good that you go—but not that you go to Showdown." +</P> + +<P> +"I sure want to thank you both. But, honest, I wouldn't know where +else to go but to Showdown. Besides, I got a hunch Malvey was headed +that way." +</P> + +<P> +"That is as a man speaks," said the señora. "My man was like that +once—but now—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm broke—no dineros," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"It is my horse that he shall have—" Boca began. +</P> + +<P> +But her mother interrupted quietly. "The young señor will return—and +there are many ways to pay. We are poor. You will not forget us. You +will come again, alone in the night. And it is not Malvey that will +show you the way." +</P> + +<P> +"Not if I see him first, señora." +</P> + +<P> +"You jest—but even now you would kill Malvey if he were here." +</P> + +<P> +"You sure are tellin' Malvey's fortune," laughed Pete. "Kin you tell +mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Again you jest—but I will speak. You will not kill Malvey, yet you +shall find your own horse. You will be hunted by men, but you will not +always be as you are now. Some day you will have wealth, and then it +is that you will remember this night. You will come again at night, +and alone—but Boca will not be here. You will grow weary of life from +much suffering, even as I. Then it is that you will think of these +days and many days to come—and these days shall be as wine in your old +age—" Boca's mother paused as though listening. "But like wine—" +and again she paused. +</P> + +<P> +"Headache?" queried Pete. "Well, I know how that feels, without the +wine. That fortune sounds good to me—all except that about Boca. +Now, mebby you could tell me which way Malvey was headed?" +</P> + +<P> +"He has ridden to Showdown." +</P> + +<P> +"So that red-headed hoss-thief fanned it right back to his boss, eh? +He must 'a' thought I was fixed for good." +</P> + +<P> +"It is his way. Men spake truly when they called him the bull. He is +big—but he is as a child." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there's goin' to be one mighty sick child for somebody to nurse, +right soon," stated Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I have said that it is bad that you ride to Showdown. But you will go +there—and he whom men call The Spider—he shall be your friend—even +with his life." +</P> + +<P> +As quietly as she came the Mexican woman departed, leaving Boca and +Pete gazing at each other in the dusk. "She makes me afraid +sometimes," whispered Boca. +</P> + +<P> +"Sounds like she could jest plumb see what she was talkin' about. Kind +of second-sight, I reckon. Wonder why she didn't put me wise to Malvey +when I lit in here with him? It would 'a' saved a heap of trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the dream," said Boca. "These things she has seen in a dream." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't got nothin' against your ole—your mother, Boca, but by the +way I'm feelin', she's sure due to have a bad one, right soon." +</P> + +<P> +"You do not believe?" queried Boca quite seriously. +</P> + +<P> +"Kind of—half. I don't aim to know everything." +</P> + +<P> +"She said you would come back," and Boca smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>That</I> dream'll sure come true. I ain't forgettin'. But I ain't +goin' to wait till you're gone." +</P> + +<P> +Boca touched Pete's hand. "And you will bring me a present. A +dress—or a ring, perhaps?" +</P> + +<P> +"You kin jest bank on that! I don't aim to travel where they make 'em +reg'lar, but you sure get that present—after I settle with Malvey." +</P> + +<P> +"That is the way with men," pouted Boca. "They think only of the +quarrel." +</P> + +<P> +"You got me wrong, señorita. I don't want to kill nobody. The big +idee is to keep from gittin' bumped off myself. Now you'd think a +whole lot of me if I was to ride off and forgit all about what Malvey +done?" +</P> + +<P> +"I would go with you," said Boca softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Honest? Well, you'd sure make a good pardner." Pete eyed the girl +with a new interest. Then he shook his head. "I—you'd sure make a +good pardner—but it would be mighty tough for you. I'd do most +anything—but that. You see, Chicita, I'm in bad. I'm like to get +mine most any time. And I ain't no ladies' man—nohow." +</P> + +<P> +"But you will come back?" queried Boca anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"As sure as you're livin'! Only you want to kind o' eddicate your ole +man to handle bottles more easy-like. He ought to know what they're +made for." +</P> + +<P> +"Your head—it is cool," said Boca, reaching up and touching Pete's +forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm feelin' fine, considerin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I am happy," said Boca. +</P> + +<P> +Pete never knew just how he happened to find Boca's hand in his own. +But he knew that she had a very pretty mouth, and fine eyes; eyes that +glowed softly in the dusk. Before he realized what had happened, Boca +was in his arms, and he was telling her again and again that "he sure +would come back." +</P> + +<P> +She murmured her happiness as he kissed her awkwardly, and quickly, as +though bidding her a hasty farewell. But she would not let him go with +that. "Mi amor! Mi corazone!" she whispered, as she clasped her hands +behind his head and gently drew his mouth to hers. +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt embarrassed, but his embarrassment melted in the soft warmth +of her affection and he returned her kisses with all the ardor of +youth. Suddenly she pushed him away and rose. Her mother had called +her. +</P> + +<P> +"About twelve," whispered Pete. "Tell your ole man I'll bush out here. +It's a heap cooler." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded and left him. Pete heard Flores speak to her gruffly. +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody ought to put that ole side-of bacon in the well," +soliloquized Pete. "I could stand for the ole lady, all right, and +Boca sure is a lily … but I was forgettin' I got to ride to +Showdown to-night." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE DEVIL-WIND +</H3> + +<P> +As Pete lay planning his departure—he wondered if Boca would think to +find him a canteen and food for his long ride—the stars, hitherto +clear-edged and brilliant, became blurred as though an almost invisible +mist had drifted between them and the earth. He rubbed his eyes. Yes, +there was no mistake about it. He was wide awake, and the sky was +changing. That which had seemed a mist now appeared more like a fine +dust, that swept across the heavens and dimmed the desert sky. It +occurred to him that he was at the bottom of a fairly deep cañon and +that that impalpable dust meant wind, A little later he heard it,—at +first a faint, far-away sound like the whisper of many voices; then a +soft, steady hiss as when wind-driven sand runs over sand. A hot wind +sprang up suddenly and swept with a rush down the night-walled cañon. +It was the devil-wind of the desert, the wind that curls the leaf and +shrivels the vine, even in the hours when there is no sun. When the +devil-wind drives, men lie naked beneath the sky in sleepless misery. +Horses and cattle stand with heads lowered and flanks drawn in, +suffering an invisible torture from which there is no escape. The dawn +brings no relief—no freshening of the air. The heat drives on—three +days—say those who know the southern desert—and no man rides the +trails, but seeks what shade may be, and lies torpid and silent—or if +he speaks, it is to curse the land. +</P> + +<P> +Pete knew that this devil-wind would make old Flores restless. He +stepped round to the doorway and asked for water. From the darkness +within the adobe came Flores's voice and the sound of a match against +wood. The Mexican appeared with a candle. +</P> + +<P> +"My head feels queer," stated Pete, as an excuse for disturbing Flores. +"I can't find the olla—and I'm dead for a drink." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we shall drink this," said Flores, fetching a jug of wine from +beneath the bench. +</P> + +<P> +"Not for mine! I'm dizzy enough, without that." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the devil-wind. One may get drunk and forget. One may then +sleep. And if one sleeps, it is not so bad." +</P> + +<P> +Pete shook his head, but tasted the wine that Flores poured for him. +If the old man would only get drunk enough to go to sleep… The +Mexican's oily, pock-marked face glistened in the flickering +candle-light. He drank and smacked his lips. "If one is to die of the +heat—one might as well die drunk," he laughed. "Drink, señor!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete sipped the wine and watched the other as he filled and emptied his +glass again. "It is the good wine," said Flores. The candle-light +cast a huge, distorted shadow of the Mexican's head and shoulders on +the farther wall. The faint drone of the hot wind came to them from +the plains above. The candle-flame fluttered. Flores reached down for +the jug and set it on the table. "All night we shall drink of the good +wine, for no man may sleep.", +</P> + +<P> +"I'm with you," said Pete. "Only I ain't so swift." +</P> + +<P> +"No man may sleep," reiterated Flores, again emptying his tumbler. +</P> + +<P> +"How about the women-folks?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Flores waved his hand in a gesture indicative of supreme indifference +to what the "women-folks" did. He noticed that Pete was not drinking +and insisted that he drink and refill his glass. Pete downed the raw +red wine and presently complained of feeling sleepy. Flores grinned. +"I do not sleep," he asserted—"not until this is gone"—and he struck +the jug with his knuckles. Pete felt that he was in for a long +session, and inwardly cursed his luck. Flores's eyes brightened and he +grew talkative. He spoke of his youth in Old Mexico; of the cattle and +the women of that land. Pete feigned a heaviness that he did not feel. +Presently Flores's talk grew disconnected; his eye became dull and his +swarthy face was mottled with yellow. The sweat, which had rolled down +his cheeks and dripped from his nose, now seemed to coagulate in tiny, +oily globules. He put down a half-empty tumbler and stared at Pete. +"No man sleeps," he mumbled, as his lids drooped. Slowly his chin sank +to his chest and he slumped forward against the table. Pete started to +get up. Flores raised his head. "Drink—señor!" he murmured, and +slumped forward, knocking the tumbler over. A dark red line streaked +the table and dripped to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +Something moved in the kitchen doorway. Pete glanced up to see Boca +staring at him. He gestured toward her father. She nodded +indifferently and beckoned Pete to follow her. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew that you would think me a lie if I did not come," she told him, +as they stood near the old corral—Pete's impatience to be gone +evident, as he shouldered his saddle. "But you will not ride tonight. +You would die." +</P> + +<P> +"It's some hot—but I aim to go through." +</P> + +<P> +"But no—not to-night! For three days will it be like this! It is +terrible! And you have been ill." +</P> + +<P> +She pressed close to him and touched his arm. "Have I not been your +friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"You sure have! But honest, Boca, I got a hunch that it's time to fan +it. 'T ain't that I'm sore at your old man now—or want to leave +you—but I got a hunch somethin' is goin' to happen." +</P> + +<P> +"You think only of that Malvey. You do not think of me," complained +Boca. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure thinkin' of you every minute. It ain't Malvey that's +botherin' me now." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why do you not rest—and wait?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because restin' and waitin' is worse than takin" a chanct. I got to +go." +</P> + +<P> +"You must go?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"But what if I will not find a horse for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I reckon you been foolin' me right along." +</P> + +<P> +"That is not so!" Boca's hand dropped to her side and she turned from +him. +</P> + +<P> +"'Course it ain't! And say, Boca, I'll make it through all right. All +I want is a good hoss—and a canteen and some grub." +</P> + +<P> +"I have made ready the food and have a canteen for you—in my room." +</P> + +<P> +"Then let's go hunt up that cayuse." +</P> + +<P> +"It is that you will die—" she began; but Pete, irritated by argument +and the burning wind that droned through the cañon, put an end to it +all by dropping the saddle and taking her swiftly in his arms. He +kissed her—rather perfunctorily. "My little pardner!" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +Boca, although sixteen and mature in a sense, was in reality little +more than a child. When Pete chose to assert himself, he had much the +stronger will. She felt that all pleading would be useless. "You have +the reata?" she queried, and turning led him past the corral and along +the fence until they came to the stream. A few hundred yards down the +stream she turned, and cautioning him to follow closely, entered a sort +of lateral cañon—a veritable box at whose farther end was Flores's +cache of horses, kept in this hidden pasture for any immediate need. +Pete heard the quick trampling of hoofs and the snort of startled +horses. +</P> + +<P> +"We will drive them on into the corral," said Boca. +</P> + +<P> +Pete could see but dimly, but he sensed the situation at once. The +cañon was a box, narrowing to a natural enclosure with the open end +fenced. He had seen such places—called "traps" by men who made a +business of catching wild horses. +</P> + +<P> +Several dim shapes bunched in the small enclosure, plunging and +circling as Pete found and closed the bars. +</P> + +<P> +"The yellow horse is of the desert—and very strong," said Boca. +</P> + +<P> +"They all look alike to me," laughed Pete. "It's mighty dark, right +now." He slipped through the bars and shook out his rope. The horses +crowded away from him as he followed. A shape reared and backed. Pete +flipped the noose and set his heels as the rope snapped taut. He held +barely enough slack to make the snubbing-post, but finally took a turn +round it and fought the horse up. "Blamed if he ain't the buckskin," +panted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The sweat dripped from his face as he bridled and saddled the half-wild +animal. It was doubly hard work in the dark. Then he came to the +corral bars where Boca stood. "I'm all hooked up, Boca." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall go back for the cantina and the food." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go right along with you. I'll wait at the other corral." +</P> + +<P> +Pete followed her and sat a nervous horse until she reappeared, with +the canteen and package of food. The hot wind purred and whispered +round them. Above, the stars struggled dimly through the haze. Pete +reached down and took her hand. She had barely touched his fingers +when the horse shied and reared. +</P> + +<P> +"If Malvey he kill you—I shall kill him!" she whispered fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm comin' back," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +A shadow flung across the night; and Boca. was standing gazing into +the black wall through which the shadow had plunged. Far up the trail +she could hear quick hoofbeats, and presently above the drone of the +wind came a faint musical "Adios! Adios!" +</P> + +<P> +She dared not call back to him for fear of waking her father, in spite +of the fact that she knew he was drugged beyond all feeling and sound. +And she had her own good reason for caution. When Flores discovered +his best horse gone, there would be no evidence that would entangle her +or her mother in wordy argument with him for having helped the young +vaquero to leave—and against the direct commands of The Spider, who +had sent word to Flores through Malvey that Pete was to remain at the +rancho till sent for. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +At the top of the cañon trail Pete reined in and tried to get his +bearings. But the horse, fighting the bit, seemed to have a clear idea +of going somewhere and in the general direction of Showdown. "You +ought to know the trail to Showdown," said Pete. "And you ain't tryin' +to git back home, so go to it! I'll be right with you." +</P> + +<P> +The heavy, hot wind seethed round him and he bent his head, tying his +bandanna across his nose and mouth. The buckskin bored into the night, +his unshod hoofs pattering softly on the desert trail. His first "fine +frenzy" done, he settled to a swinging trot that ate into the miles +ceaselessly. Twice during the ride Pete raised the canteen and +moistened his burning throat. Slowly he grew numb to the heat and the +bite of the whipping sand, and rode as one in a horrible dream. He had +been a fool to ride from comparative safety into this blind furnace of +burning wind. Why had he done so? And again and again he asked +himself this question, wondering if he were going mad. It had been +years and years since he had left the Flores rancho. There was a girl +there—Boca Dulzura—or had he dreamed of such a girl? Pete felt the +back of his head. "No, it wa'n't a dream," he told himself. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A ghastly dawn burned into Showdown, baring the town's ugliness as it +crept from 'dobe to 'dobe as though in search of some living thing to +torture with slow fire. The street was a wind-swept emptiness, smooth +with fine sand. Pete rode to the hitching-rail. The Spider's place +was dumb to his knocking. He staggered round to the western side of +the saloon and squatted on his heels. "Water that pony after a while," +he muttered. Strange flashes of light danced before his eyes. His +head pained dully and he ached all over for lack of sleep. A sudden +trampling brought him to his feet. He turned the corner of the saloon +just in time to see the buckskin lunge back. The reins snapped like a +thread. The pony shook its head and trotted away, circling. Pete +followed, hoping that the tangle of dragging rein might stop him. +</P> + +<P> +Half-dazed, Pete followed doggedly, but the horse started to run. Pete +staggered back to the hitching-rail, untied the end of the broken rein +and tossed it across the street. He did not know why he did this; he +simply did it mechanically. +</P> + +<P> +He was again afoot, weak and exhausted from his night's ride. "I +reckon that ole Mexican woman—was right," he muttered. "But I got one +pardner yet, anyhow," and his hand slid to his holster. "You and me +ag'in' the whole dam' town! God, it's hot." +</P> + +<P> +He slumped to the corner of the saloon and squatted, leaning against +the wall. He thought of Boca. He could hear her speak his name +distinctly. A shadow drifted across his blurred vision. He glanced +up. The Spider, naked to the waist, stood looking down at him, leanly +grotesque in the dawn light. +</P> + +<P> +"You 're going strong!" said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"I want Malvey," whispered Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider's lips twitched. "You'll get some coffee and beans first. +Any man that's got enough sand to foot it from Flores here—can camp on +me <I>any</I> time—coming or going." +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +"I'm workin' this case myself," stated Pete sullenly. +</P> + +<P> +"You play your own hand," said The Spider. And for once he meant it. +He could scarcely believe that Young Pete had made it across the desert +on foot—yet there was no horse in sight. If Young Pete could force +himself to such a pace and survive he would become a mighty useful tool. +</P> + +<P> +"Did Malvey play you?" queried The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to know." +</P> + +<P> +"He said you were sick—down at Flores's rancho." +</P> + +<P> +"Then he's here!" And Pete's dulling eyes brightened. "Well, I ain't +as sick as he's goin' to be, Spider." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR" +</H3> + +<P> +Pete was surprised to find the darkened saloon cooler than the open +desert, even at dawn; and he realized, after glancing about, that The +Spider had closed the doors and windows during the night to shut out +the heat. +</P> + +<P> +"In here," said The Spider, opening the door back of the bar. +</P> + +<P> +Pete followed, groping his way into The Spider's room. He started back +as a match flared. The Spider lighted a lamp. In the sudden soft glow +Pete beheld a veritable storehouse of plunder: gorgeous serapes from +Old Mexico—blankets from Tehuantepec and Oaxaca, rebosas of woven silk +and linen and wool, the cruder colorings of the Navajo and Hopi +saddle-blankets, war-bags and buckskin garments heavy with the beadwork +of the Utes and Blackfeet, a buffalo-hide shield, an Apache bow and +quiver of arrows, skins of the mountain lion and lynx, and hanging from +the beam-end a silver-mounted saddle and bridle and above it a Mexican +sombrero heavy with golden filigree. +</P> + +<P> +"You've rambled some," commented Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Some. What's the matter with your head?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your friend Flores handed me one—from behind," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider gestured toward a blanket-covered couch against the wall. +"Lay down there. No, on your face. Huh! Wait till I get some water." +</P> + +<P> +Pete closed his eyes. Presently he felt the light touch of fingers and +then a soothing coolness. He heard The Spider moving about the room. +The door closed softly. Pete raised his head. The room was dark. He +thought of Malvey and he wondered at The Spider's apparent solicitude. +He was in The Spider's hands—for good or ill… Sleep blotted out +all sense of being. +</P> + +<P> +Late that afternoon he awoke to realize that there was some one in the +room. He raised on his elbow and turned to see The Spider gazing down +at him with a peculiar expression—as though he were questioning +himself and awaiting an answer from some outside source. +</P> + +<P> +Pete stretched and yawned and grinned lazily. "Hello, pardner! I was +dreamin' of a friend of mine when I come to and saw"—Pete hesitated, +sat up and yawned again—"another friend that I wa'n't dreamin' about," +he concluded. +</P> + +<P> +"What makes you think I'm your friend?" queried The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, hell, I dunno," said Pete, rubbing the back of his head and +grinning boyishly. "But there's no law ag'in' my feelin' that way, is +there? Doggone it, I'm plumb empty! Feel like my insides had been +takin' a day off and had come back just pawin' the air to git to work." +</P> + +<P> +"Malvey's in town." +</P> + +<P> +Pete's mouth hardened, then relaxed to a grin. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if he's as hungry as I am he ain't worryin' about me." +</P> + +<P> +"He's got your horse." +</P> + +<P> +"That don't worry me none." +</P> + +<P> +"I told Malvey to get your horse from you and set you afoot at Flores'." +</P> + +<P> +"And he sure made a good job of it, didn't he? But I don't sabe your +game in hog-tyin' me down to Flores's place." +</P> + +<P> +"I figured you'd be safer afoot till you kind of cooled down." +</P> + +<P> +Pete tried to read The Spider's face, but it was as impersonal as the +desert itself. "Mebby you figured to hold me there till you was good +and ready to use me," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there's nothin' doin'. I ain't no killer or no hoss-thief +lookin' for a job. I got in bad up north—but I ain't lookin' for no +more trouble. If Malvey and me lock horns—that's my business. But +you got me wrong if you reckon I'm goin' to throw in with your outfit. +I kin pay for what I eat a couple of times, anyhow. But I ain't hirin' +out to no man." +</P> + +<P> +"Go back in the patio and Juan will get you some chuck," said The +Spider abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"Which I'm payin' for," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Which you're paying for," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +Following its usual course, the devil-wind died down suddenly at dusk +of the third day. A few Mexicans drifted into the saloon that evening +and following them several white men up from the border. Pete, who sat +in the patio where he could watch the outer doorway of the saloon, +smoked and endeavored to shape a plan for his future. He was vaguely +surprised that a posse had not yet ridden into Showdown; for The Spider +had said nothing of Houck and his men, and Pete was alert to that +contingency, in that he had planned to slip quietly from the patio to +the corral at the back, in case they did ride in, estimating that he +would have time to saddle a horse and get away before they could search +the premises, even if they went that far; and he doubted that they +would risk that much without The Spider's consent. Would The Spider +give such consent? Pete doubted it, not because he trusted The Spider +so much, but rather because the deliberate searching of premises by a +posse would break an established precedent, observed in more than one +desert rendezvous. That simple and eloquent statement, "Go right ahead +and search—but you'll search her in smoke," had backed down more than +one posse, as Pete knew. +</P> + +<P> +Already the monotony of loafing at The Spider's place had begun to wear +on Pete, who had slept much for two days and nights, and he was itching +to do something. He had thought of riding down and across the border +and had said so to The Spider, who had advised him against it. During +their talk Malvey's name was mentioned. Pete wondered why that +individual had chosen to keep from sight so long, not aware that The +Spider had sent word to Malvey, who was at Mescalero's ranch, a few +miles east of Showdown, that a posse from the Blue had ridden in and +might be somewhere in the vicinity. +</P> + +<P> +Little by little Pete began to realize that his present as well as his +future welfare depended on caution quite as much as upon sheer courage. +Insidiously The Spider's influence was working upon Pete, who saw in +him a gambler who played for big stakes with a coldness and +soullessness that was amazing—and yet Pete realized that there was +something hidden deep in The Spider's cosmos that was intensely human. +For instance, when Pete had given up the idea of crossing the border +and had expressed, as much by his countenance as his speech, his +imperative need to be out and earning a living, The Spider had offered +to put him to work on his ranch, which he told Pete was of considerable +extent, and lay just north of the national boundary and well out of the +way of chance visitors. "Cattle"—The Spider had said—"and some +horses." +</P> + +<P> +Pete thought he knew about how that ranch had been stocked, and why it +was located where it was. But then, cattle-stealing was not confined +to any one locality. Any of the boys riding for the Blue or the Concho +or the T-Bar-T were only too eager to brand a stray calf and consider +that they were but serving their employer's interests, knowing that +their strays were quite as apt to be branded by a rival outfit. So it +went among men supposed to be living under the law. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider's proffer of work was accepted, but Pete asserted that he +would not leave Showdown until he had got his horse. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see that you get him," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks. But I aim to git him myself." +</P> + +<P> +And it was shortly after this understanding that Pete sat in the patio +back of the saloon—waiting impatiently for Malvey to show up, and +half-inclined to go out and look for him. But experience had taught +Pete the folly of hot-headed haste, so, like The Spider, he withdrew +into himself, apparently indifferent to the loud talk of the men in the +saloon, the raw jokes and the truculent swaggering, with the +implication, voiced loudly by one half-drunken renegade, that the +stranger was a short-horn and naturally afraid to herd in with "the +bunch." +</P> + +<P> +"He's got business of his own," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"That's different. I 'poligish." +</P> + +<P> +The men laughed, and the bibulous outlaw straightway considered himself +a wit. But those who carried their liquor better knew that The +Spider's interruption was significant. The young stranger was playing +a lone hand, and the rules of the game called for strict attention to +their own business. +</P> + +<P> +Presently a Mexican strode in and spoke to The Spider. The Spider +called to a man at one of the tables. The noisy talk ceased suddenly. +"One," said The Spider. "From the south." +</P> + +<P> +Pete heard and he shifted his position a little, approximating the +distance between himself and the outer doorway. Card-games were +resumed as before when a figure filled the doorway. Pete's hand slid +slowly to his hip. His fingers stiffened, then relaxed, as he got to +his feet. +</P> + +<P> +It was Boca—alone, and smiling in the soft glow of lamplight. The +Spider hobbled from behind the bar. Some one called a laughing +greeting. "It's Boca, boys! We'll sure cut loose to-night! When Boca +comes to town the bars is down!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete heard—and anger and surprise darkened his face. These men seemed +to know Boca too well. One of them had risen, leaving his card-game, +and was shaking hands with her. Another asked her to sing "La Paloma." +Even The Spider seemed gracious to her. Pete, leaning against the +doorway of the patio, stared at her as though offended by her presence. +She nodded to him and smiled. He raised his hat awkwardly. Boca read +jealousy in his eye. She was happy. She wanted him to care. "I +brought your saddle, señor," she said, nodding again. The men laughed, +turning to glance at Pete. Still Pete did not quite realize the +significance of her coming. "Thanks," he said abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +Boca deliberately turned her back on him and talked with The Spider. +She was hurt, and a little angry. Surely she had been his good friend. +Was Pete so stupid that he did not realize why she had ridden to +Showdown? +</P> + +<P> +The Spider, who had just learned why she was there, called to his +Mexican, who presently set a table in the patio. Slowly it dawned on +Pete that Boca had made a long ride—that she must be tired and hungry. +He felt ashamed of himself. She had been a friend to him when he +sorely needed a friend. And of course these men knew her. No doubt +they had seen her often at the Flores rancho. She had brought his +saddle back—which meant that she had found the buckskin, riderless, +and fearing that something serious had happened, had caught up the pony +and ridden to Showdown, alone, and no doubt against the wishes of her +father and mother. It was mighty fine of her! He had never realized +that girls did such things. Well, doggone it! he would let her know +that he was mighty proud to have such a pardner! +</P> + +<P> +The Spider hobbled to the patio and placed a chair for Boca, who +brushed past Pete as though he had not been there. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right!" laughed Pete. "But say, Boca, what made <I>me</I> sore was +the way them hombres out there got fresh, joshin' you and askin' you to +sing, jest like they had a rope on you—" +</P> + +<P> +"You think of that Malvey?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I ain't forgittin' the way he—" +</P> + +<P> +Boca's eyes flashed. "Yes! But here it is different. The Spider, he +is my friend. It is that when I have rested and eaten he will ask me +to sing. Manuelo will play the guitar. I shall sing and laugh, for I +am no longer tired. I am happy. Perhaps I shall sing the song of 'The +Outlaw,' and for you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be listenin'—every minute, Boca. Mebby if I ain't jest +<I>lookin'</I> at you—it'll be because—" +</P> + +<P> +"Si! Even like the caballero of whom I shall sing." And Boca hummed a +tune, gazing at Pete with unreadable eyes, half-smiling, half-sad. How +young, smooth-cheeked, and boyish he was, as he glanced up and returned +her smile. Yet how quickly his face changed as he turned his head +toward the doorway, ever alert for a possible surprise. Boca pushed +back her chair. "The guitar," she called, nodding to The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +Manuelo brought the guitar, tuned it, and sat back in the corner of the +patio. The men in the saloon rose and shuffled to where Boca stood, +seating themselves roundabout in various attitudes of expectancy. +Pete, who had risen, recalled The Spider's terse warning, and stepped +over to the patio doorway. Manuelo had just swept the silver strings +in a sounding prelude, when The Spider, behind the bar, gestured to +Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it ain't Malvey," said The Spider, as Pete answered his abrupt +summons. "Here, take a drink while I talk. Keep your eye on the +front. Don't move your hands off the bar, for there's three men out +there, afoot, just beyond the hitching-rail. There was five, a minute +ago. I figure two of 'em have gone round to the back. Go ahead—drink +a little, and set your glass down, natural. I'm joshin' with you, +see!"—and The Spider grinned hideously. "Smile! Don't make a break +for the patio. The boys out there wouldn't understand, and Boca might +get hurt. She's goin' to sing. You turn slow, and listen. When your +back's turned, those hombres out there will step in." The Spider +laughed, as though at something Pete had said. "You're mighty +surprised to see 'em and you start to talk. Leave the rest to me." +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded and lifted his glass. From the patio came the sound of +Boca's voice and the soft strumming of the guitar. Pete heard but +hardly realized the significance of the first line or two of the +song—and then: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"A rider stood at the lamplit bar,<BR> + tugging the knot of his neckscarf loose, +While some one sang to the silver strings,<BR> + in the moonlight patio." +</P> + +<P> +It was the song of "The Outlaw." Pete turned slowly and faced the +patio. Manuelo swept the strings in a melodious interlude. Boca, her +vivid lips parted, smiled at Pete even as she began to sing again. +Pete could almost feel the presence of men behind him. He knew that he +was trapped, but he kept his gaze fixed on Boca's face. The Spider +spoke to some one—a word of surprised greeting. In spite of his hold +on himself Pete felt the sweat start on his lip and forehead. He was +curious as to what these men would look like; as to whether he would +know them. Perhaps they were not after him, but after some of the men +in the patio— +</P> + +<P> +"Annersley!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete swung round, his hands up. He recognized two of the men—deputies +of Sheriff Sutton of Concho. The third man was unknown to him. +</P> + +<P> +"You're under arrest for the killing of Steve Gary." +</P> + +<P> +"How's that?" queried The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Steve Gary. This kid shot him—over to the Blue. We don't want any +trouble about this," continued the deputy. "We've got a couple of men +out back—" +</P> + +<P> +"There won't be any trouble," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"No—there won't be any trouble," asserted Pete. "Gimme a drink, +Spider." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you don't!" said the deputy. "You got too many friends out +there," and he gestured toward the patio with his gun. +</P> + +<P> +"Not my friends," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Boca's song ended abruptly as she turned from her audience to glance in +Pete's direction. She saw him standing with upraised hands—and in +front of him three men—strangers to Showdown. +</P> + +<P> +Came the shuffling of feet as the men in the patio turned to see what +she was staring at. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit still!" called The Spider. "This ain't your deal, boys. They got +the man they want." +</P> + +<P> +But Boca, wide-eyed and trembling, stepped through the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"That's close enough!" called a deputy. +</P> + +<P> +She paused, summoning all of her courage and wit to force a laugh. +"Si, señor. But you are mistaken. It is not that I care what you do +with <I>him</I>. I do but come for the wine for which I have asked, but +there was no one to bring it to me,"—and she stepped past the end of +the bar into The Spider's room. She reappeared almost instantly with a +bottle of wine. +</P> + +<P> +"I will open that for you," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind!" said one of the deputies; "the lady seems to know how." +</P> + +<P> +Boca took a glass from the counter. "I will drink in the patio with my +friends." But as she passed round the end of the bar and directly +beneath the hanging lamp, she turned and paused. "But no! I will +drink once to the young vaquero, with whom is my heart and my life." +And she filled the glass and, bowing to Pete, put the glass to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +The deputy nearest Pete shrugged his shoulder. "This ain't a show." +</P> + +<P> +"Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle. It shivered +against the lamp. With the instant darkness came a streak of red and +the close roar of a shot. Pete, with his gun out and going, leapt +straight into the foremost deputy. They crashed down. Staggering to +his feet, Pete broke for the outer doorway. Behind him the room was a +pit of flame and smoke. Boca's pony reared as Pete jerked the reins +loose, swept into the saddle, and down the moonlit street. He heard a +shot and turned his head. In the patch of moonlight round The Spider's +place he saw the dim, hurrying forms of men and horses. He leaned +forward and quirted the pony with the rein-ends. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-228"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-228.jpg" ALT=""Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle." BORDER="2" WIDTH="353" HEIGHT="618"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Back in The Spider's place men grouped round a huddled something on the +floor. The Spider, who had fetched a lamp from his room, stooped and +peered into the upturned face of Boca. A dull, black ooze spread and +spread across the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Boca!" he shrilled, and his face was hideous. +</P> + +<P> +"Did them coyotes git her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where's the kid?" +</P> + +<P> +The Spider straightened and held the lamp high. "Take her in there," +and he gestured toward his room. Two of the men carried her to the +couch and covered her with the folds of the serape which had slipped +from her shoulders as she fell. +</P> + +<P> +"Say the word, Spider, and we'll ride 'em down!" It was "Scar-Face" +who spoke, a man notorious even among his kind. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider, strangely quiet, shook his head. "They'll ride back here. +They were after Young Pete. She smashed the lamp to give him a chance +to shoot his way out. They figured he'd break for the back—but he +went right into 'em. They don't know yet that they got her. And he +don't know it." He hobbled round to the back of the bar. "Have a +drink, boys, and then I'm going to close up till—" and he indicated +his room with a movement of the head. +</P> + +<P> +Young Pete, riding into the night, listened for the sound of running +horses. Finally he pulled his pony to a walk. He had ridden north—up +the trail which the posse had taken to Showdown, and directly away from +where they were searching the desert for him. And as Pete rode, he +thought continually of Boca. Unaware of what had happened—yet he +realized that she had been in great danger. This worried him—an +uncertainty that became an obsession—until he could no longer master +it with reason. He had ridden free from present hazard, unscratched +and foot-loose, with many hours of darkness before him in which to +evade the posse. He would be a fool to turn back. And yet he did, +slowly, as though an invisible hand were on his bridle-rein; forcing +him to ride against his judgment and his will. He reasoned, shrewdly, +that the posse would be anywhere but at The Spider's place, just then. +</P> + +<P> +In an hour he had returned and was knocking at the door, surprised that +the saloon was closed. +</P> + +<P> +At Pete's word, the door opened. The Spider, ghastly white in the +lamplight, blinked his surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Playin' a hunch," stated Pete. And, "Boca here?" he queried, as he +entered. +</P> + +<P> +"In there," said The Spider, and he took the lamp from the bar. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the use of wakin' her?" said Pete. "I come back—I got a +hunch—that somethin' happened when I made my get-away. But if she's +all right—" +</P> + +<P> +"You won't wake her," said The Spider, and his voice sounded strange +and far-away. "You better go in there." +</P> + +<P> +A hot flash shot through Pete. Then came the cold sweat of a dread +anticipation. He followed The Spider to where Boca lay on the couch, +as though asleep. Pete turned swiftly, questioning with his eyes. The +Spider set the lamp on the table and backed from the room. Breathing +hard, Pete stepped forward and lifted a corner of the serape. Boca's +pretty mouth smiled up at him—but her eyes were as dead pools in the +night. +</P> + +<P> +The full significance of that white face and those dull, unseeing eyes, +swept through him like a flame. "Pardner!" he whispered, and flung +himself on his knees beside her, his shadow falling across her head and +shoulders. In the dim light she seemed to be breathing. Long he gazed +at her, recalling her manner as she had raised her glass: "I drink to +the young vaquero, with whom is my heart—<I>and my life</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Dully Pete wondered why such things should happen; why he had not been +killed instead of the girl, and which one of the three deputies had +fired the shot that had killed her. But no one could ever know +that—for the men had all fired at him when the lamp crashed down—yet +he, closer to them than Boca, had broken through their blundering +fusillade. He knew that Boca had taken a great risk—and that she must +have known it also. And she had taken that risk that he might win free. +</P> + +<P> +Too stunned and shaken to reason it out to any definite conclusion, +Pete characteristically accepted the facts as they were as he thrust +aside all thought of right or wrong and gave himself over to tearless +mourning for that which Boca had been. That dead thing with dark, +staring eyes and faintly smiling lips was not Boca. But where was she +then? +</P> + +<P> +Slowly the lamplight paled as dawn fought through the heavy shadows of +the room. The door swung open noiselessly. The Spider glanced in and +softly closed the door again. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider, he of the shriveled heart and body, did the most human +thing he had done for years. At the little table opposite the bar he +sat with brandy and a glass and deliberately drank until he felt +neither the ache of his old wounds nor the sting of this fresh thrust +of fate. Then he knew that he was drunk, but that his keen, crooked +mind would obey his will, unfeelingly, yet with no hesitation and no +stumbling. +</P> + +<P> +He rose and hobbled to the outer door. A vagrant breeze stirred the +stale air in the room. Back in the patio his Mexican, Manuelo, lay +snoring, wrapped in a tattered blanket. The Spider turned from the +doorway and gazed at the sanded spot on the floor, leaning against the +bar and drumming on its edge with his nervous fingers. "He'll see her +in every night-fire when he's alone—and he'll talk to her. He will +see her face among the girls in the halls—and he'll go cold and speak +her name, and then some girl will laugh. He will eat out his heart +thinking of her—and what she did for him. He's just a kid—but when +he comes out of that room … he won't give a damn if he's bumped off +or not. He'll play fast—and go through every time! God! I ought to +know!" +</P> + +<P> +The Spider turned and gazed across the morning desert. Far out rode a +group of men. One of them led a riderless horse. The Spider's thin +lips twisted in a smile. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"PLANTED—OUT THERE" +</H3> + +<P> +Malvey, loafing at the ranch of Mescalero, received The Spider's +message about the posse with affected indifference. He had Pete's +horse in his possession, which in itself would make trouble should he +be seen. When he learned from the messenger that Young Pete was in +Showdown, he fumed and blustered until evening, when he saddled Blue +Smoke and rode south toward the Flores rancho. From Flores's place he +would ride on south, across the line to where he could always find +employment for his particular talents. Experience had taught him that +it was useless to go against The Spider, whose warning, whether it were +based on fact or not, was a hint to leave the country. +</P> + +<P> +The posse from Concho, after circling the midnight desert and failing +to find any trace of Pete, finally drew together and decided to wait +until daylight made it possible to track him. As they talked together, +they saw a dim figure coming toward them. Swinging from their course, +they rode abruptly down a draw. Four of them dismounted. The fifth, +the chief deputy, volunteered to ride out and interview the horseman. +The four men on foot covered the opening of the draw, where the trail +passed, and waited. +</P> + +<P> +The deputy sat his horse, as though waiting for some one. Malvey at +once thought of Young Pete—then of The Spider's warning—and finally +that the solitary horseman might be some companion from below the +border, cautiously awaiting his approach. Half-inclined to ride wide, +he hesitated—then loosening his gun he spurred his restless pony +toward the other, prepared to "bull" through if questioned too closely. +</P> + +<P> +Within thirty feet of the deputy Malvey reined in. "You're ridin' +late," he said, with a forced friendliness in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"This the trail to Showdown?" queried the deputy. +</P> + +<P> +"This is her. Lookin' for anybody in particular?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. And I reckon nobody is lookin' for me. I'm ridin my own horse." +</P> + +<P> +It was a chance shot intended to open the way to a parley—and identify +the strange horseman by his voice, if possible. It also was a +challenge, if the unknown cared to accept it as such. Malvey's slow +mind awakened to the situation. A streak of red flashed from his hand +as he spurred straight for the deputy, who slipped from his saddle and +began firing over it, shielded by his pony. A rifle snarled in the +draw. Malvey jerked straight as a soft-nosed slug tore through him. +Another slug shattered his thigh. Cursing, he lunged sideways, as Blue +Smoke bucked. Malvey toppled and fell—an inert bulk in the dim light +of the stars. +</P> + +<P> +The chief deputy struck a match and stooped. "We got the wrong man," +he called to his companions. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Bull Malvey," said one of the deputies as the match flickered +out. "I knew him in Phoenix." +</P> + +<P> +"Heard of him. He was a wild one," said another deputy. +</P> + +<P> +"Comin' and goin'! One of The Spider's bunch, and a hoss-thief right! +I reckon we done a good job." +</P> + +<P> +"He went for his gun," said the chief. +</P> + +<P> +"We had him covered from the start," asserted a deputy. "He sure won't +steal no more hosses." +</P> + +<P> +"Catch up his cayuse," commanded the chief deputy. +</P> + +<P> +Two of them, after a hard ride, finally put Blue Smoke within reach of +a rope. He was led back to where Malvey lay. +</P> + +<P> +"Concho brand!" exclaimed the chief. +</P> + +<P> +"Young Pete's horse," asserted another. +</P> + +<P> +"There'll be hell to pay if Showdown gets wise to what happened to Bull +Malvey," said the deputy, who recognized the dead outlaw. +</P> + +<P> +Dawn was just breaking when the chief deputy, disgusted with what he +termed their "luck," finally evolved a plan out of the many discussed +by his companions. "We got the cayuse—which will look good to the +T-Bar-T boys. We ain't down here for our health and we been up against +it from start to finish—and so far as I care, this is the finish. Get +it right afore we start. Young Pete is dead. We got his horse." He +paused and glanced sharply at Blue Smoke. "He's got the Concho brand!" +he exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"Young Pete's horse was a blue roan," said a deputy. "I guess this is +him—blue roan with a white blaze on his nose—so Cotton told me." +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like it!" said the chief deputy. "Well, say we got his horse, +then. We're in luck for once." +</P> + +<P> +"Now it's easy diggin' down there in the draw. And it's gettin' +daylight fast. I reckon that's Malvey's saddle and bridle on the blue +roan. We'll just cover up all evidence of who was ridin' this hoss, +drift into Showdown and eat, and then ride along up north and collect +that reward. We'll split her even—and who's goin' to say we didn't +earn it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suits me," said a deputy. His companions nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Then let's get busy. The sand's loose here. We can drag a blanket +over this—and leave the rest to the coyotes." +</P> + +<P> +They scraped a long, shallow hole in the arroyo-bed and buried Malvey +along with his saddle and bridle. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The Spider smiled as he saw them coming. He was still smiling as he +watched them ride up the street and tie their tired ponies to the +hitching-rail. He identified the led horse as the one Malvey had +stolen from Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I see you got him," he said in his high-pitched voice. +</P> + +<P> +The chief deputy nodded. "He's planted—out there." +</P> + +<P> +"I meant the horse," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +Ordinarily, The Spider was a strange man. The posse thought him +unusually queer just then. His eyes seemed dulled with a peculiar +faint, bluish film. His manner was over-deliberate. There was +something back of it all that they could not fathom. Moreover, the +place was darkened. Some one had hung blankets over the windows. The +deputies—four of them—followed The Spider into the saloon. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you boys want to eat," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"We sure do." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I'll have Manuelo get you something." And he called to +the Mexican, telling him to place a table in the private room—The +Spider's own room, back of the bar. While the Mexican prepared +breakfast, the posse accepted their chief's invitation to have a drink, +which they felt they needed. Presently The Spider led the way to his +room. The deputies, somewhat suspicious, hesitated on the threshold as +they peered in. A lamp was burning on the table. There were plates, +knives and forks, a coffee-pot, a platter of bacon… Beyond the +lamp stood Young Pete, his back toward the couch and facing them. His +eyes were like the eyes of one who walks in his sleep. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider held up his hand. "You're planted—out there. These +gentlemen say so. So you ain't here!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete's belt and gun lay on the floor. The Spider was in his +shirt-sleeves and apparently unarmed. +</P> + +<P> +The chief deputy sized up the situation in a flash and pulled his gun. +"I guess we got you—this trip, Pete." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said The Spider. "You're wrong. He's planted—out there. What +you staring at, boys? Pete, stand over there. Come right in, boys! +Come on in! I got something to show you." +</P> + +<P> +"Watch the door, Jim," said the chief. "Ed, you keep your eye on The +Spider." The chief deputy stepped to the table and peered across it at +a huddled something on the couch, over which was thrown a shimmering +serape. He stepped round the table and lifted a corner of the serape. +Boca's sightless eyes stared up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Christ!" he whispered. "It's the girl!" And even as he spoke he knew +what had happened—that he and his men were responsible for this. His +hand shook as he turned toward The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"She—she ran into it when she— It's pretty tough, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Your breakfast is waiting," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"This was accidental," said the deputy, recovering himself, and +glancing from one to another of his men. Then he turned to Pete. +"Pete, you'll have to ride back with us." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said The Spider with a peculiar stubborn shrug of his shoulders. +"He's planted out there. You said so." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, Spider. We made a mistake. This is the man we +want." +</P> + +<P> +"Then who is planted out there?" queried The Spider in a soft, +sing-song voice, high-pitched and startling. +</P> + +<P> +"That's our business," stated the deputy. +</P> + +<P> +"No—mine!" The Spider glanced past the deputy, who turned to face a +Mexican standing in the doorway. The Mexican's hands were held belt +high and they were both "filled." +</P> + +<P> +"Get the first man that moves," said The Spider in Mexican. And as he +spoke his own hand flashed to his armpit, and out again like the stroke +of a snake. Behind his gun gleamed a pair of black, beady eyes, as +cold as the eyes of a rattler. The deputy read his own doom and the +death of at least two of his men should he move a muscle. He had Young +Pete covered and could have shot him down; Pete was unarmed. The +deputy lowered his gun. +</P> + +<P> +Pete blinked and drew a deep breath. "Give me a gun, Spider—and we'll +shoot it out with 'em, right here." +</P> + +<P> +The Spider laughed. "No. You're planted out there. These gents say +so. I'm working this layout." +</P> + +<P> +"Put up your gun, Ed," said the chief, addressing the deputy who had +The Spider covered. "He's fooled us, proper." +</P> + +<P> +"Let 'em out, one at a time," and The Spider gestured to the Mexican, +Manuelo. "And tell your friends," he continued, addressing the chief +deputy, "that Showdown is run peaceful <I>and that I run her</I>." +</P> + +<P> +When they were gone The Spider turned to Pete. "Want to ride back to +Concho?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete, who had followed The Spider to the saloon, did not seem to hear +the question. Manuelo was already sweeping out with a broom which he +had dipped in a water-bucket—as casually busy as though he had never +had a gun in his hand. Something in the Mexican's supreme indifference +touched Pete's sense of humor. He shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's goin' to tell her father?" he queried, gesturing toward the +inner room. +</P> + +<P> +"He knows," said The Spider, who stood staring at the Mexican. +</P> + +<P> +"You're drunk," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe I'm drunk," echoed The Spider. "But I'm her father." +</P> + +<P> +Pete stepped forward and gazed into The Spidery scarred and lined face. +"Hell!" Then he thrust out his hand. "Spider, I reckon I'll throw in +with you." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE OLLA +</H3> + +<P> +The Spider's system of bookkeeping was simple, requiring neither pen +nor paper, journal nor day-book. He kept a kind of mental loose-leaf +ledger with considerable accuracy, auditing his accounts with +impartiality. For example, Scar-Face and three companions just up from +the border recently had been credited with twenty head of Mexican +cattle which were now grazing on The Spider's border ranch, the Olla. +Scar-Face had attempted to sell the cattle to the leader of a Mexican +faction whose only assets at the time were ammunition and hope. +Scar-Face had met this chieftain by appointment at an abandoned +ranch-house. Argument ensued. The Mexican talked grandiloquently of +"Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality." Scar-Face held out for cash. The +Mexican leader needed beef. Scar-Face needed money. As he had rather +carelessly informed the Mexican that he could deliver the cattle +immediately, and realizing his mistake,—for he knew that the Mexican +would straightway summon his retainers and take the cattle in the name +of "Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality,"—Scar-Face promptly shot this +self-appointed savior of Mexico, mortally wounded one of his two +companions, and finally persuaded the other to help drift the cattle +north with a promise of a share of the profits of the enterprise. +</P> + +<P> +The surviving Mexican rode to Showdown with Scar-Face and his +companions, received his share of the sale in cash,—which he +squandered at The Spider's place,—and straightway rode back across the +border to rejoin his captainless comrades and appoint himself their +leader, gently insinuating that he himself had shot the captain whom he +had apprehended in the treachery of betraying them to a rival +aggregation of ragged Liberties, Fraternities, and Equalities. +</P> + +<P> +The Spidery mental ledger read: "Scar-Face—Debit, chuck, liquor, and +lodging"—an account of long standing—"and forty dollars in cash. +Credit—twenty head of cattle, brand unknown." +</P> + +<P> +Scar-Face's account was squared—for the time being. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was also on The Spider's books, and according to The Spider's +system of accounts, Pete was heavily in debt to him. Not that The +Spider would have ever mentioned this, or have tried to collect. But +when he offered Pete a job on his ranch he shrewdly put Pete in the way +of meeting his obligations. +</P> + +<P> +Cattle were in demand, especially in Mexico, so ravaged by lawless +soldiery that there was nothing left to steal. One outlaw chieftain, +however, was so well established financially that his agents were able +to secure supplies from a mysterious source and pay for them with gold, +which also came from an equally mysterious source—and it was with +these agents that The Spider had had his dealings. His bank account in +El Paso was rolling up fast. Thus far he had been able to supply beef +to the hungry liberators of Mexico; but beef on the hoof was becoming +scarce on both sides of the border. Even before Pete had come to +Showdown, The Spider had perfected a plan to raid the herds of the +northern ranches. Occasional cowboys drifting to Showdown had given +him considerable information regarding the physical characteristics of +the country roundabout these ranches, the water-holes, trails, and +grazing. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider knew that he could make only one such raid, with any chance +of success. If he made a drive at all, it would be on a big scale. +The cattlemen would eventually trail the first stolen herd to his +ranch. True, they would not find it there. He would see to it that +the cattle were pushed across the border without delay. But a second +attempt would be out of the question. The chief factor in the success +of the scheme would be the prompt handling of the herd upon its +arrival. He had cowboys in his employ who would steal the cattle. +What he needed was a man whom he could rely upon to check the tally and +turn the herd over to the agents of the Mexican soldiery and collect +the money on the spot, while his cowboys guarded the herd from a +possible raid by the Mexicans themselves. He knew that should the +northern ranchmen happen to organize quickly and in force, they would +not hesitate to promptly lynch the raiders, burn his buildings, take +all his horses worth taking, and generally put the ranch out of +business. +</P> + +<P> +Thus far the ranch had paid well as a sort of isolated clearing-house +for The Spider's vicarious accounts. The cowboys who worked there were +picked men, each of whom received a straight salary, asked no +questions, and rode with a high-power rifle under his knee and a keen +eye toward the southern ranches. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, riding south, bore an unsigned letter from The Spider, with +instructions to hand it to the foreman of "The Olla" and receive +further instructions from that gentleman. Pete knew nothing of the +contemplated raid, The Spider shrewdly surmising that Pete would balk +at the prospect of stealing cattle from his own countrymen. And it was +because of this very fact that The Spider had intrusted Pete—by letter +to the foreman—with the even greater responsibility of receiving the +money for the cattle and depositing it in a certain bank in El Paso. +Heretofore, such payments had been made to The Spider's representative +in that city—the president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings +Bank—who had but recently notified The Spider that he could no longer +act in the capacity of agent on account of local suspicion, already +voiced in the current newspapers. Hereafter The Spider would have to +deal directly with the Mexican agents. And The Spider unhesitatingly +chose Pete as his representative, realizing that Pete was shrewdly +capable, fearless, and to be trusted. +</P> + +<P> +Toward evening of the third day out of Showdown, Pete came upon a most +unexpected barrier to his progress—a wire fence stretching east and +west; a seemingly endless succession of diminishing posts. He +estimated that there must he at least forty thousand acres under fence. +According to location, this was The Spider's ranch—the Olla—Pete +reined around and rode along the fence for a mile or so, searching for +a gateway; but the taut barbed wire ran on and on, toward a sun that +was rounding swiftly down to the western horizon. He dismounted and +pulled the staples from several lengths of wire until he had enough +slack to allow the top wire to touch the ground. He stood on the wires +and jockeyed Blue Smoke across, tied him to a post, and tacked the wire +back in place. +</P> + +<P> +Headed south again, he had just passed a clump of chaparral when up +from the draw came a tall, muscular cowboy, riding a big horse—and a +fast one, thought Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Evenin'," drawled the cowboy—a slow-speaking Texan, who was evidently +waiting for Pete to explain his presence. +</P> + +<P> +"How!—Is this here the Olla ranch?" +</P> + +<P> +"One end of her." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm lookin' for the foreman." +</P> + +<P> +"What name did you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't say." +</P> + +<P> +"What's your business down this way?" queried the cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +"It's mine. I dunno as it's any of yours." +</P> + +<P> +"So? Now, that's mighty queer! Lookin' for the fo'man, eh? Well, go +ahead and look—they's plenty of room." +</P> + +<P> +"Too much," laughed Pete. "Reckon I got to bush here and do my huntin' +in the mornin'—only"—and Pete eyed the other significantly—"I kind +of hate to bush on the ground. I was bit by a spider onct—" +</P> + +<P> +"A spider, eh? Now that's right comical. What kind of a spider was it +that bit you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Trap-door spider. Only this here one was always home." +</P> + +<P> +"So?" drawled the Texan. "Now, that's right funny. I was bit by a +rattler once. Got the marks on my arm yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if it comes to a showdown, that there spider bite—" +</P> + +<P> +"The ranch-house is yonder," said the Texan. "Just you ride along the +way you're headed. That's a pretty horse you're settin' on. If it +wa'n't so dark I'd say he carried the Concho brand." +</P> + +<P> +"That's him," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a long jump from home, friend." +</P> + +<P> +"And good for twice that distance, neighbor." +</P> + +<P> +"You sure please me most to death," drawled the Texan. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I reckon you might call in that there coyote in the brush over +there that's been holdin' a gun on me ever since we been talkin',"—and +Pete gestured with his bridle hand toward the clump of chaparral. +</P> + +<P> +"Sam," called the Texan, "he says he don't like our way of welcomin' +strangers down here. He's right friendly, meetin' one man at a +time—but he don't like a crowd, nohow." +</P> + +<P> +A figure loomed in the dusk—a man on foot who carried a rifle across +his arm. Pete could not distinguish his features, but he saw that the +man was tall, booted and spurred, and evidently a line-rider with the +Texan. +</P> + +<P> +"This here young stinging-lizard says he wants to see the fo'man, Sam. +Kin you help him out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead and speak your piece," said the man with the rifle. +</P> + +<P> +"She's spoke," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm the man you're huntin'," asserted the other. +</P> + +<P> +"You foreman?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same." +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you was jest a hand—ridin' fence, mebby." And as Pete spoke +he rolled a cigarette. His pony shied at the flare of the match, but +Pete caught an instant glimpse of a lean-faced, powerfully built man of +perhaps fifty years or more who answered The Spider's description of +the foreman. "I got a letter here for Sam Brent, foreman of the Olla," +said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you're talkin' business." +</P> + +<P> +"His business," laughed the Texan. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope—The Spider's," asserted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Your letter will keep," said the foreman. "Ed, you drift on along +down the fence till you meet Harper. Tell him it's all right." And +the foreman disappeared in the dusk to return astride a big cowhorse. +"We'll ride over to the house," said he. +</P> + +<P> +Pete estimated that they had covered three or four miles before the +ranch-buildings came in sight—a dim huddle of angles against the +starlit sky. To his surprise the central building was roomy and +furnished with a big table, many chairs, and a phonograph, while the +floor was carpeted with Navajo blankets, and a big shaded hanging lamp +illumined the table on which were scattered many dog-eared magazines +and a few newspapers. Pete had remarked upon the stables while turning +his own horse into the corral. "We got some fast ones," was all that +the foreman chose to say, just then. +</P> + +<P> +Pete and the foreman had something to eat in the chuck-house, and +returned to the larger building. Brent read The Spider's letter, +rolled the end of his silver-gray mustache between his thumb and +forefinger, and finally glanced up. "So, you're Pete Annersley?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's my name." +</P> + +<P> +"Have a chair. You're right young to be riding alone. How did you +come to throw in with The Spider?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete hesitated. Why should he tell this man anything other than that +he had been sent by The Spider with the letter which—he had been +told—would explain his presence and embody his instructions? +</P> + +<P> +"Don't he say in that letter?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"He says you were mixed up in a bank robbery over to Enright," stated +the foreman. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a dam' lie!" flared Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you'll do," said Brent, as he folded the letter. The Spider +had made that very statement in his letter to Brent for the purpose of +finding out, through the foreman, whether or not Pete had taken it upon +himself to read the letter before delivering it. And Brent, aware of +The Spider's methods, realized at once why his chief had misstated the +facts. It was evident that Pete had not read the letter, otherwise he +would most probably have taken his cue from The Spider's assertion +about the bank robbery and found himself in difficulties, for directly +after the word "Enright" was a tiny "x"—a code letter which meant +"This is not so." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon I'll do what?" queried Pete. "Let The Spider or anybody like +him run a whizzer on me after I run a good hoss ragged to git here with +his doggone letter—and then git stuck up like I was a hoss-thief? You +got another guess, uncle." +</P> + +<P> +The old cowman's eyes twinkled. "You speak right out in meetin', don't +you, son?" His drawl was easy and somehow reminded Pete of Pop +Annersley. "Now there's some wouldn't like that kind of talk—even +from a kid." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd say it to The Spider as quick as I would to you," asserted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Which might be takin' a chance, both ways." +</P> + +<P> +"Say"—and Pete smiled—"I guess I been talkin' pretty fast, I was some +het up. The Spider used me as white as he could use anybody, I reckon. +But ever since that killin' up to his place, I been sore at the whole +doggone outfit runnin' this here world. What does a fella git, anyhow, +for stickin' up for himself, if he runs against a killer? He gits +bumped off—or mebby he kills the other fella and gits run out of the +country or hung. Pardners stick, don't they? Well, how would it git +you if you had a pardner that—well, mebby was a girl and she got +killed by a bunch of deputies jest because she was quick enough to +spoil their game? Would you feel like shakin' hands with every doggone +hombre you met up with, or like tellin' him to go to hell and sendin' +him there if he was lookin to argue with you? I dunno. Mebby I'm +wrong—from the start—but I figure all a fella gits out of this game +is a throwdown, comin' or goin'—'for the deck is stacked and the wheel +is crooked." +</P> + +<P> +"I was fifty-six last February," said Brent. +</P> + +<P> +"And how many notches you got on your gun?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, mebby two, three," drawled the foreman. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it! Say you started in callin' yourself a growed man when you +was twenty. Every ten years you had to hand some fella his finish to +keep from makin' yours. 'Got to kill to live,' is right!" +</P> + +<P> +"Son, you got a good horse, and yonder is the whole State of Texas, +where a man can sure lose himself without tryin' hard. There's plenty +of work down there for a good cow-hand. And a man's name ain't printed +on his face. Nobody's got a rope on you." +</P> + +<P> +"I git you," said Pete. "But I throwed in with The Spider—and that +goes." +</P> + +<P> +"That's your business—and as you was sayin' your business ain't mine. +But throwin' a fast gun won't do you no good round here." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't claim to be so doggone fast," stated Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Faster than Steve Gary?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete's easy glance centered to a curious, tense gaze which was fixed on +the third button of Brent's shirt. "What about Steve Gary?" asked +Pete, and even Brent, old hand as he was, felt the sinister +significance in that slow question. The Spider's letter had said to +"give him a try-out," which might have meant almost anything to a +casual reader, but to Brent it meant just what he had been doing that +evening—seeking for a weak spot in Pete's make-up, if there were such, +before hiring him. +</P> + +<P> +"My gun is in the bedroom," said Brent easily. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Gary's wasn't," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"We ain't had a gun-fight on this ranch since I been foreman," said +Brent. "And we got some right fast men, at that. Seein' you're goin' +to work for me a spell, I'm goin' to kind of give you a line on things. +You can pick your own string of horses—anything that you can get your +rope on that ain't branded 'J.E.', which is pet stock and no good at +workin' cattle. You met up with Ed Brevoort this evenin'. Well, you +can ride fence with Ed and he'll show you the high spots and +hollows—and the line—south. If you run onto any strangers ridin' too +close to the line, find out what they want. If you can't find out, get +word to me. That goes for strangers. But if you get to arguin' with +any of my boys—talk all you like—but don't start a smoke—<I>for you +won't get away with it</I>. The Spider ain't payin' guns to shoot up his +own outfit. If you're lookin' for real trouble, all you got to do is +to ride south acrost the line—and you'll find it. And you're gettin' +a straight hundred a month and your keep as long as you work for the +Olla." +</P> + +<P> +"Which is some different from takin' my hoss and fannin' it easy for +Texas," said Pete, grinning. +</P> + +<P> +"Some different," said Brent. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OVER THE LINE +</H3> + +<P> +Few cattle grazed across the Olla's well-fenced acres—and these cattle +were of a poor strain, lean Mexican stock that would never run into +weight as beef. Pete had expected to see many cattle—and much work to +be done. Instead, there were few cattle; and as for work—he had been +put to riding line with big Ed Brevoort. For two weeks he had done +nothing else. Slowly it dawned upon Pete that The Spider's ranch was +little more than a thoroughfare for the quick handling of occasional +small bands of cattle from one questionable owner to another. He saw +many brands, and few of them were alike, and among them none that were +familiar. Evidently the cattle were from the south line. The +saddle-stock was branded "J.E." and "The Olla." These brands appeared +on none of the cattle that Pete had seen. About a month after his +arrival, and while he was drifting slowly along the fence with +Brevoort, Pete caught sight of a number of horsemen, far out beyond the +ranch-line, riding slowly toward the north. He spoke to Brevoort, who +nodded. "We're like to be right busy soon." +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort and Pete rode to the ranch-house that evening to get supplies +for their line shack. The place was all but deserted. The cook was +there—and the Mexican José who looked after the "fast ones" in the +stables; but Brent, Harper, Sandy Bell, and the rest of the men were +gone. Pete thought of the horsemen that he had seen—and of Brevoort's +remark, that they would "be right busy soon." Pete wondered how soon, +and how busy. +</P> + +<P> +The day after the departure of the men, Brevoort told Pete that they +would take turn about riding the north line, in an eight-hour shift, +and he cautioned Pete to be on the lookout for a messenger riding a bay +horse—"Not a cow-horse, but a thoroughbred." +</P> + +<P> +This was at the line shack. +</P> + +<P> +Several nights later, as Pete was riding his line, he noticed that Blue +Smoke occasionally stopped and sniffed, and always toward the north. +Near the northwestern angle of the fence, Pete thought he could hear +the distant drumming of hoofs. Blue Smoke fretted and fought the bit. +Pete dismounted and peered into the darkness. The rhythmic stride of a +running horse came to him—not the quick patter of a cow-pony, but the +long, sweeping stride of a racer. +</P> + +<P> +Then out of the night burst a rider on a foam-flecked horse that reared +almost into the gate, which Pete unlooped and dragged back. +</P> + +<P> +"That you, Brevoort?" called the horseman. +</P> + +<P> +"He's at the shack," Pete shouted, as the other swept past. +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like we're goin' to be right busy," reflected Pete as he swung +to the saddle. "We'll jest jog over to the shack and report." +</P> + +<P> +When he arrived at the line shack, Brevoort was talking with the +hard-riding messenger. Near them stood the thoroughbred, his flanks +heaving, his neck sweat-blackened, his sides quivering with fatigue. +He had covered fifty miles in five hours. +</P> + +<P> +"—and countin' the Concho stuff—I'd say something like two hundred +head," the messenger was saying. "Brent'll be in to-morrow, long 'bout +noon. So far, she worked slick. No trouble and a show of gettin' +through without any trouble. Not much young stock, so they're drivin' +fast." +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort turned to Pete. "Take this horse over to the corral. Tell +Moody that Harper is in, and that the boys will be here in a couple of +days. He'll know what to do." +</P> + +<P> +Pete rode at a high lope, leading the thoroughbred, and wondering why +the messenger had not gone on to the corral. Moody, the cook, a +grizzled, heavy-featured man, too old for hard riding, expressed no +surprise at Pete's message, but awakened the Mexican stableman and told +him to fetch up a "real one," which the Mexican did with alertness, +returning to the house leading another sleek and powerful thoroughbred. +"Take him over to the shack," said Moody. "Harper wants him." And he +gave Pete a package of food which he had been preparing while the +Mexican was at the stable. +</P> + +<P> +When Pete returned to the line shack he found Brevoort sitting in the +doorway smoking, and the messenger asleep on the ground, his head on +his saddle. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's your horse," said Brevoort, "and some chuck." +</P> + +<P> +Harper sat up quickly, too quickly for a man who had ridden as far as +he had. Pete wondered at the other's hardihood and grit, for Harper +was instantly on his feet and saddling the fresh horse, and +incidentally cursing the Olla, Brent, and the universe in general, with +a gusto which bespoke plenty of unspoiled vigor. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Brent the coast is clear," said Brevoort as Harper mounted. +</P> + +<P> +They could hear his horse getting into his stride long before the sound +of his hoofbeats was swallowed up in the abyss of the night. +</P> + +<P> +Pete turned in. Brevoort rode out to drift along the line fence until +daylight. +</P> + +<P> +And Pete dreamed strange dreams of night-riders who came and went +swiftly and mysteriously; and of a dusty, shuffling herd that wound its +slow way across the desert, hazed by a flitting band of armed riders +who continually glanced back as though fearful of pursuit. Suddenly +the dream changed. He was lying on a bed in a long, white-walled room, +dimly lighted by a flickering gas-jet, and Boca stood beside him gazing +down at him wistfully. He tried to speak to her, but could not. Nor +did she speak to him, but laid her hand on his forehead, pressing down +his eyelids. Her hand was dry and hot. Pete tried to open his +eyes—to raise his hand, to speak. Although his eyes were closed and +Boca's hot hand was pressed down on them, Pete knew that round-about +was a light and warmth of noonday… Boca's hand drew back—and +Pete lay staring straight into the morning sun which shone through the +open doorway. In the distance he could see Brevoort riding slowly +toward him. Pete raised on his elbow and threw back the blankets. As +he rose and pulled on his overalls he thought of the messenger. He +knew that somewhere back on the northern trail the men of the Olla were +pushing a herd of cattle slowly south,—cattle from the T-Bar-T, the +Blue, and … he suddenly recalled Harper's remark—"And countin' the +Concho stuff…" Pete thought of Jim Bailey and Andy White, and of +pleasant days riding for the Concho. But after all, it was none of his +affair. He had had no hand in stealing the cattle. He would do well +enough to keep his own hide whole. Let the cattlemen who lived under +the law take care of their own stock and themselves. And curiously +enough, Pete for the first time wondered what had become of Malvey—if +the posse had actually shot him, or if they had simply taken the horse +and let Malvey go. The arrival of Brevoort put an end to his pondering. +</P> + +<P> +"Brent will be in to-day," said Brevoort. "You stick around here; and +call me about noon." +</P> + +<P> +"The old man ain't takin' chances," remarked Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"You're wrong there," asserted Brevoort. "He's takin' the long chance +every time, or he wouldn't be foreman of this outfit. You'll find that +out if you stick round here long enough. If you don't call it takin' a +chance pullin' off a trick like this one that's comin', jest try it +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"He handles men easy," asserted Pete, recalling Brent's rather fatherly +advice in regard to Texas and the opportunity for a young man to go +straight. +</P> + +<P> +"You sure please me most to death," drawled Brevoort. "You been a +right quiet little pardner, and smilin', so I'm going to tell you +somethin' that you can keep right on bein' quiet about. Sam Brent +would send you or me or any man into a gun-fight, or a posse, or a +jail, and never blink his eye, if he thought it was good business for +him. He'd do it pleasant, too, jest like he was sendin' you to a +dance, or a show. But he'd go jest as quick hisself, if he had to." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I guess we got no kick," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't kickin'. I'm jest puttin' you wise." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't forgittin', Ed." +</P> + +<P> +Pete turned, following Brevoort's gaze. The man they were talking +about was in sight and riding hard. Presently Brent was close enough +to nod to them. Although he had ridden far and fast, he was as casual +as sunshine. Neither in his voice nor his bearing was the least trace +of fatigue. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' to need you," he told Pete. "We're short of hands right +now. If you need anything over in the line shack, go git it and come +along down after Ed and me." +</P> + +<P> +Pete took the hint and left Brevoort and Brent to ride to the house +together while he rode over to the shack and warmed up some coffee and +beans. In an hour he was at the house. A thoroughbred stood at the +hitching-rail. Pete noticed that the animal carried Brevoort's saddle. +Evidently there was to be more hard riding. As Pete entered the big +room, he also noticed that Brevoort was heavily armed, and carried an +extra belt of cartridges. Brent was examining a rifle when Pete +stepped in. "You may need this," said Brent, handing the rifle and +scabbard to Pete. "Go over to the bunk-house and get another belt and +some shells." +</P> + +<P> +When Pete returned, Blue Smoke was in the corral and his own saddle was +on a big bay that looked like a splendid running-mate for Brevoort's +mount. Pete busied himself slinging the rifle, curious as to what his +new venture would or could be, yet too proud to show that he was +interested. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort, hitching up his belt, swung to his horse. Without hesitation +Pete followed. Well-fed, eager and spirited, the horses lunged out +into the open and settled into a long, swinging stride—a gait that was +new to Pete, accustomed as he was to the shorter, quick action of the +cow-pony. +</P> + +<P> +They rode south, across the sunlit expanse of emptiness between the +hacienda and the line. A few hundred yards beyond the fence, Brevoort +reined in. "Mexico," he said, gesturing round about. "Our job is to +ride to the Ortez rancho and get that outfit movin' up this way." +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to turn the cattle over to 'em?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—and that quick they won't know they got 'em. It's a big deal, if +she goes through. If she don't, it's like to be the finish of the +Olla." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' if the T-Bar-T and the Concho gits busy, there's like to be +some smoke blowin' down this way?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same. Recollect what I was tellin' you this mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +"About Brent sendin' a man into a fight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But I wasn't figurin' on provin' it to you so quick," drawled +the Texan. "Hold your horse down to a walk. We'll save speed for a +spell. No, I wasn't figurin' on this. You see, when I hired out to +Brent, I knew what I was doin'—so I told him I'd jest earn my pay on +the white side of the border—but no Mexico for mine. That was the +understandin'. Now he goes to work and sends you and me down into this +here country on a job which is only fit for a Greaser. I'm goin' to +see it through, but I done made my last ride for the Olla." +</P> + +<P> +"Brent was sayin' he was short of hands," suggested Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Which is correct. But there's that José who knows every foot of the +dry-spot clean to the Ortez—and he knows every hoss-thief in this +sun-blasted country. Does he send José? No. He sends two white men, +tellin' me that it is too big a deal to trust the Mexican with." +</P> + +<P> +"And a fine chance of gittin' bumped off by a lousy bunch of Cholas +callin' themselves soldiers, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"You said it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we got good hosses, anyway. And I sabe the Mexican talk." +</P> + +<P> +"Guess that's why Brent sent you along. He knows I talk mighty little +Mexican." And Brevoort gazed curiously at Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Seein' as you feel that way about it, Ed, I got somethin' I been +millin' over in my head. Now, when The Spider sent me down here he +said he had some important business he wanted me to handle. Brent was +to tell me. Now I don't see anything important about ridin' line or +chasin' into Mexico to wake up a bunch of Greasers and tell 'em to get +busy. Uncle Sammy Brent's got somethin' hid up his sleeve, Ed." +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort, riding slowly beside Pete, turned from gazing across the +desert and looked Pete over from spur to sombrero with a new interest. +He thought he knew now why The Spider had sent Pete to the ranch and +why Brent, in turn, had sent Pete on this dangerous mission. "Is The +Spider much of a friend of yours?" queried Brevoort suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I dunno. 'Course he acted like he was—but you can't tell about +him. He—he helped me out of a hole onct." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever help him out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me? No, I never had the chanct." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. Well, just you pull in your hoss and run your good eye over +this a minute." And Brevoort drew a folded slip of paper from his +shirt-pocket and handed it to Pete. It was a brief note addressed to +Brevoort and signed "J.E." It instructed Brevoort to accompany Pete +Annersley to El Paso after the sale of the cattle and to see to it that +the money which Annersley would have with him was deposited to the +credit of James Ewell in the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank. +</P> + +<P> +Pete had difficulty in reading the note and took some time to read it, +finally handing it back to Brevoort in silence. And then, "Where did +you git it? Who is 'J.E.'?" +</P> + +<P> +"From Harper. 'J.E.' is Jim Ewell—The Spider." +</P> + +<P> +"So Harper rode to Showdown and back?" +</P> + +<P> +"He took word from Brent to The Spider that the boys had started," said +Brevoort. +</P> + +<P> +"And Brent—" Pete hesitated for fear of committing himself even though +he trusted Brevoort. But Brevoort had no hesitation. He anticipated +Pete's thought and spoke frankly. +</P> + +<P> +"Brent figured it fine. I knew why he sent you and me on this +ride—but I was tryin' to find out if you was wise—or ridin' blind. +If we come back, Brent won't show his hand. If we don't come back +he'll collect the dough and vamoose. Kin you see a hole in the fence?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're whistlin', Ed! It's one crook tryin' to git the best of +another crook. But I would 'a' said Brent was straight. I say The +Spider's money goes into that there bank." +</P> + +<P> +"Same here. I ain't so dam' honest that it hurts me, but I quit when +it comes to stealin' from the man that's payin' my wages." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I reckon you and me is pardners in this deal," and Pete, boyishly +proffered his hand. +</P> + +<P> +Big Ed Brevoort grasped Pete's hand, and held it till the horses shied +apart. "To the finish," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"To the finish," echoed Pete, and with one accord they slackened rein. +The thoroughbreds reached out into that long, tireless running stride +that brought their riders nearer and nearer to the Ortez rancho and the +Mexican agent of the guerilla captain whose troops were so sadly in +need of beef. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A GAMBLE +</H3> + +<P> +On either side of a faint trail rose the dreary, angling grotesques of +the cactus, and the dried and dead stalks of the soapweed. Beyond, to +the south, lay a sea of shimmering space, clear to the light blue that +edged the sky-line. The afternoon sun showed copper-red through a +faint haze which bespoke a change of weather. The miles between the +Olla and that tiny dot on the horizon—the Ortez hacienda—seemed +endless, because of no pronounced landmarks. Pete surmised that it +would be dark long before they reached their destination. Incidentally +he was amazed by the speed of the thoroughbreds, who ran so easily, yet +with a long, reaching stride that ate into the miles. To Pete they +seemed more like excellent machines than horses—lacking the pert +individuality of the cow-pony. Stall-fed and groomed to a satin-smooth +glow, stabled and protected from the rains—pets, in Pete's +estimation—yet he knew that they would run until they dropped, holding +that long, even stride to the very end. He reached out and patted his +horse on the neck. Instantly the sensitive ears twitched and the +stride lengthened. Pete tightened rein gently. "A quirt would only +make him crazy," he thought; and he grinned as he saw that Brevoort's +horse had let out a link or two to catch up with its mate. +</P> + +<P> +The low sun, touching the rim of the desert, flung long crimson shafts +heavenward—in hues of rose and amethyst, against the deep umber and +the purple of far spaces. From monotonous and burning desolation the +desert had become a vast momentary solitude of changing beauty and +enchantment. Then all at once the colors vanished, space shrank, and +occasional stars trembled in the velvet roof of the night. And one +star, brighter than the rest, grew gradually larger, until it became a +solitary camp-fire on the level of the plain. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't like the looks of that," said Brevoort, as he pulled up his +horse. "It's out in front of the 'dobe—and it means the Ortez has got +company." +</P> + +<P> +"Soldiers?" +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like it." +</P> + +<P> +"Arguilla's men?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon so. And they're up pretty clost to the line—too clost to +suit me. We'll ride round and do our talkin' with Ortez." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't they friendly?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Friendly, hell! Any one of 'em would knife you for the hoss you're +ridin'! Hear 'em sing! Most like they're all drunk—and you know what +that means. Just follow along slow; and whatever you run into don't +get off your hoss." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't them there coyotes friendly to Ortez?" +</P> + +<P> +"S' long as he feeds 'em. But that don't do us no good. Ought to be +some of the Ortez riders hangin' round somewhere. They don't mix much +with Arguilla's men." +</P> + +<P> +"She's a lovely lay-out," said Pete. "But I'm with you." +</P> + +<P> +Circling the ranch, Brevoort and Pete rode far out into the desert, +until the camp-fire was hidden by the ranch-buildings. Then they +angled in cautiously, edging past the 'dobe outbuildings and the +corrals toward the hacienda. "Don't see anybody around. Guess they +'re all out in front drinkin' with the bunch," whispered Brevoort. +Just as Pete was about to make a suggestion, a figure rose almost +beneath the horse's head, and a guttural Mexican voice told him to +halt. Pete complied, telling the Mexican that they were from the Olla, +that they had a message for Ortez. +</P> + +<P> +"No use arguin'," said Brevoort—and Pete caught Brevoort's meaning as +another man appeared. +</P> + +<P> +"Ask him if Arguilla is here," said Brevoort. And Pete knew that these +were Arguilla's men, for none of the Ortez vaquero's carried +bolt-action rifles. +</P> + +<P> +The sentry replied to Pete's question by poking him in the ribs with +the muzzle of his rifle, and telling his to get down muy pronto. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him our message is for Arguilla—not Ortez," suggested Brevoort. +"There's something wrong here. No use startin' anything," he added +hastily, as he dismounted. "Ortez is agent for Arguilla's outfit. If +you get a chance, watch what they do with our horses." +</P> + +<P> +"We came to see El Comandante," said Pete as the sentries marched them +to the house. "We're his friends—and you'll be coyote-meat before +mornin' if you git too careless with that gun." +</P> + +<P> +The sentry grunted and poked Pete in the back with his rifle, informing +him in that terse universal idiom that he could "tell it to El +Comandante." +</P> + +<P> +From the outer darkness to the glare of the light in the 'dobe was a +blinding transition. Pete and Brevoort blinked at the three figures in +the main room: Arguilla, who sat at the long table, his heavy features +glistening with sweat, his broad face flushed to a dull red, had his +hand on a bottle of American whiskey, from which he had just filled his +glass. Near him sat the owner of the rancho, Ortez, a man much older, +bearded and lean, with face lined and interlined by weather and age. +At the closed door stood a sentry. From without came raucous laughter +and the singing of the soldiers. The sentry nearest Pete told Arguilla +that the Gringoes had been caught sneaking in at the back of the +hacienda. +</P> + +<P> +Pete briskly corrected this statement. "We're from the Olla—about the +cattle—for your army," added Pete, no whit abashed as he proffered +this bit of flattery. +</P> + +<P> +"Si! You would talk with the patron then?"—and Arguilla gestured +toward Ortez. +</P> + +<P> +"We got orders from Brent—he's our boss—-to make our talk to you," +said Pete, glancing quickly at Brevoort. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know that I was here with my army?" queried Arguilla. +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks! That's easy. It's in all the papers," asserted Pete, rather +proud of himself, despite the hazard of the situation. +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla's chest swelled noticeably. He rose and strutted up and down +the room, as though pondering a grave and weighty question. Presently +he turned to Ortez. "You have heard, señor?" +</P> + +<P> +Ortez nodded. And in that nod Brevoort read the whole story. Ortez +was virtually a prisoner on his own ranch. The noble captain of +Liberty had been known to use his best friends in this way. +</P> + +<P> +"When will the cattle arrive at the Olla?" asked Arguilla, seating +himself. +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow, Señor Comandante. That is the word from Sam Brent." +</P> + +<P> +"And you have come for the money, then?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete barely hesitated. "No. Brent said there ain't no hurry about +that. He said you could figure on two hundred head"—Pete recalled +Harper's statement—"and that you would send your agent over to the +Olla with the cash." +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla glanced at Ortez. "You have heard, señor?" +</P> + +<P> +Ortez nodded dejectedly. He had heard, but he dare not speak. As the +trusted agent of the financiers backing Arguilla, he had but recently +been given the money for the purchase of these supplies, and almost on +the heels of the messenger bearing the money had come Arguilla, who at +once put Ortez under arrest, conveyed the money to his own coffers, and +told the helpless Ortez that he could settle with the Gringo Brent +according to the understanding between them. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort, silently eying Arguilla, saw through the scheme. Arguilla +had determined to have both the money and the cattle. This explained +his unwonted presence at the Ortez hacienda. +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla took a stiff drink of whiskey, wiped his mustache and turned +to Brevoort. "You have heard?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort knew enough Mexican to understand the question. "We'll tell +Brent that everything is all right," he said easily. "But he's a dam' +liar," he added in an undertone to Pete. Brevoort had made the mistake +of assuming that because he did not understand Mexican, Arguilla did +not understand English. Arguilla did not hear all that Brevoort said, +but he caught the one significant word. His broad face darkened. +These Gringoes knew too much! He would hold them until the cattle had +been delivered—and then they could join his army—or be shot. A mere +detail, in either event. +</P> + +<P> +"Put these men under arrest!" he commanded the sentries. "If they +escape—you are dead men." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the idee—" began Pete, but the noble captain waved his hand, +dismissing all argument, along with the sentries, who marched their +prisoners to the stable and told them plainly that they had much rather +shoot them than be bothered with watching them; a hint that Pete +translated for Brevoort's benefit. +</P> + +<P> +One of the sentries lighted a dusty lantern and, placing it on the +floor of a box stall, relieved his captives of their belts and guns. +The sentries squatted at the open end of the stall and talked together +while Brevoort and Pete sat each in a corner staring at the lantern. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Brevoort raised his head. "Find out if either of 'em sabe +American talk," he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"You sabe my talk?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +One of the sentries turned to stare at Pete. The Mexican shook his +head. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a liar by the watch—and your father was a pig and the son of a +pig, wasn't he?" asked Pete, smiling pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Si!" said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendly +joke. +</P> + +<P> +"And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he's +jest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soon +knife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?" And +Pete smiled engagingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Si. It is to laugh." +</P> + +<P> +"You sabe whiskey?" +</P> + +<P> +The Mexican shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"You sabe dam' fool?" Pete's manner was serious as though seeking +information. +</P> + +<P> +Again the Mexican shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort—"or he'd 'a' jest +nacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' fool +means, he don't know American." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of +gambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster had +taken their fancy. Pete and his companion watched them for a while. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Pete attracted Brevoort's attention by moving a finger. +"Hear anything?" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"I hear 'em eatin'," said Brevoort. He was afraid to use the word +"horses." +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded. "Speakin' of eatin'—you hungry, Ed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plumb empty. But I didn't know it till you asked me." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I been feelin' round in the hay—and right in my corner is a +nest full of eggs. There's so doggone many I figure that some of 'em +is gettin' kind of ripe. Did you ever git hit in the eye with a ripe +egg?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not that I recollect'." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you would—if you had. Now I don't know what that swelled up +gent in there figures on doin' with us. And I don't aim to hang around +to find out. These here Cholas is gamblin' for our hosses, right now. +It kind of looks to me like if we stayed round here much longer we +ain't goin' to need any hosses or anything else. I worked for a +Mexican onct—and I sabe 'em. You got to kind of feel what they mean, +and never mind what they are sayin'. Now I got a hunch that we don't +get back to the Olla, never—'less we start right now." +</P> + +<P> +"But how in—" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute. I'm goin' to dig round like I was goin' to take a +sleep—and find these here eggs. Then I'm goin' to count 'em nacheral, +and pile 'em handy to you. Then we rig up a deal like we was gamblin' +for 'em, to kind of pass the time. If that don't git them two coyotes +interested, why, nothin' will. Next to gamblin' a Chola likes to +<I>watch</I> gamblin' better 'n 'most anything. When you git to win all my +eggs, I make a holler like I'm mad. You been cheatin'. And if them +two Cholas ain't settin' with their mouths open and lookin' at us, why, +I don't know Cholas. They're listenin' right now—but they don't sabe. +Go ahead and talk like you was askin' me somethin'." +</P> + +<P> +"What's your game after we start beefin' about the eggs?" +</P> + +<P> +"You pick up a couple—and I pick up a couple. First you want to move +round so you kin swing your arm. When I call you a doggone bald-face +short-horn, jest let your Chola have the eggs plumb in his eye. If +they bust like I figure, we got a chanct to jump 'em—but we got to +move quick. They's a old single-tree layin' right clost to your elbow, +kind of half under the hay. Mebby it'll come handy. I figure to kick +my friend in the face when I jump. Do I find them eggs?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dig for 'em," drawled the Texan. +</P> + +<P> +"If we miss the first jump, then they shoot, and that'll be our finish. +But that's a heap better 'n gittin' stood up against a 'dobe wall. I +jest found them eggs." +</P> + +<P> +And Pete uttered an exclamation as he drew his hand from the straw +behind him, and produced an egg. The Mexicans glanced up. Pete dug in +the straw and fetched up another egg—and another. Brevoort leaned +forward as though deeply interested in some sleight-of-hand trick. Egg +after egg came from the abandoned nest. The Mexicans laughed. The +supply of eggs seemed to be endless. +</P> + +<P> +Finally Pete drew out his hand, empty. "Let's count 'em," he said, and +straightway began, placing the eggs in a pile midway between himself +and his companion. "Twenty-eight. She was a enterprisin' hen." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll match for 'em," said Brevoort, hitching round and facing Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go you!" And straightway Brevoort and Pete became absorbed in +the game, seemingly oblivious to the Mexicans, who sat watching, with +open mouths, utterly absorbed in their childish interest. Two Gringoes +were gambling for bad eggs. +</P> + +<P> +Pete won for a while. Then he began to lose. "They're ripe all right. +I can tell by the color. Plumb ready to bust. The Cholas sabe that. +Watch 'em grin. They 're waitin' for one of us to bust a egg. That'll +be a big joke, and they'll 'most die a-laughin'—'cause it's a +joke—and 'cause we're Gringoes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then here's where I bust one," said Brevoort. "Get a couple in your +hand. Act like you was chokin' to death. I'll laugh. Then I'll kind +of get the smell of that lame egg and stand up quick. Ready?" +</P> + +<P> +"Shoot," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort tossed an egg on the pile. Several of the eggs broke with a +faint "plop." Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed such +utter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance of +the age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act his +part. He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even as +Brevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were not +altogether innocent. The two Mexicans had risen to their knees and +rocked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes. +Plop!—Plop!—Plop! and three of the four eggs targeted an accurate +twelve o'clock. Pete leaped and kicked viciously. His high heel +caught one choking Mexican in the jaw just as Brevoort jumped and swung +the single-tree. Pete grabbed up his belt and gun. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort had no need to strike again. +</P> + +<P> +"You go see if the horses are saddled. I'll watch the door," said +Brevoort. +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla was awakened from a heavy sleep by the sound of a shot and the +shrill yelp of one of his men. A soldier entered and saluted. "The +Americans have gone," he reported. +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla's bloated face went from red to purple, and he reached for his +gun which lay on the chair near his bed. But the lieutenant who had +reported the escape faced his chief fearlessly. +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla hesitated. "Who guarded them?" he asked hoarsely. +</P> + +<P> +The lieutenant named the men. +</P> + +<P> +"Take them out and shoot them—at once." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Señor Comandante, they may not stand. The Americans have beaten +them so that they are as dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Then shoot them where they lay—which will be easier to do." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap29"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIX +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +QUERY +</H3> + +<P> +Far out across the starlit gloom the two thoroughbreds raced side by +side. They seemed to know what was required of them. A mile, two +miles, three miles, and the night-fire of Arguilla's men was a +flickering dot against the black wall of the night. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort pulled his horse to a walk. "We done left 'em looking at each +other," he drawled. +</P> + +<P> +"Two of 'em ain't," said Pete succinctly. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort chuckled. "I was tryin' that hard not to laugh when you +smelled them aigs, that I come nigh missin' my chanct. You sure are +some play-actor." +</P> + +<P> +"Play-actor nothin'! I was doggone near sick. I kin smell 'em yet. +Say, I'd like to know what'll happen to them two Cholas." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't you satisfied with what we done to 'em?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep. But Arguilla won't be. I'd hate to be in their boots—" From +the south came the faint, sinister "pop! pop!" of rifle shots. Pete +turned quickly toward his companion. "Right now," he concluded, +shrugging his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"We got trouble of our own," said Brevoort. "Brent tried to run his +iron on us—but he got hold of the wrong iron. Now the deal will have +to go through like The Spider figured. Mebby Brent knows that +Arguilla's men are at the Ortez—and mebby he don't. But we don't say. +We ride in and repo't that Ortez says O.K.—that his vaqueros are +comin' for the cattle and that he is comin' with the cash. Brent won't +bat an eye. I know him. He'll jest tell you to take the dough and +ride to Sanborn and take the train for El Paso. Then he'll vamose." +</P> + +<P> +"How's that?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause he knows that this is the finish. When he was handlin' stock +from south of the line,—in small bunches, and pushin' it through +fast,—we was all right. The Mexican punchers was doin' the stealin', +sellin' the stuff to Brent. And Brent was sellin' to Arguilla's +agent—which is Ortez. All Ortez did was pay for it and turn it over +to Arguilla. Mexicans was stealin' from Mexicans and sellin' to Brent +cheap, 'cause he paid cash, and Brent was sellin' it to Mexicans. The +fellas that stole the stuff knew better 'n to try to sell to Arguilla. +All they would 'a' got would 'a' been a promise. So they sells to +Brent, who bought mighty cheap, but paid real money. That worked fine. +But when Brent starts stealin' from white men on his side of the +line—why, he knows that it is the finish—so he figures on a big +haul—or The Spider does—kind of takes them ranchers up north by +surprise and gets away with a couple of hundred head. But he knows, as +sure's he's a foot high, that they'll trail him—so he forgets that The +Spider said you was to collect from Ortez and bank the dough—and +figures on collectin' it himself." +</P> + +<P> +"Kind of a cold deal, eh, Ed?" +</P> + +<P> +"All crooked deals is cold." +</P> + +<P> +"But I wonder why Brent didn't send me down to the Ortez alone. What +did he ring you in for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Brent figured that I'd get wise to his scheme. You see, the +understandin' with The Spider is, that I'm fo'man of the Olla, case +Brent gets bumped off. Mebby The Spider thinks I'm square. Mebby he +jest plays me against Brent to keep us watchin' each other. I dunno." +</P> + +<P> +"You figure Arguilla will send old man Ortez over the line with the +cash?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He will now. We done spoiled his game by gittin' loose. But I +don't say that Arguilla won't try to raid the Olla and get that money +back, after he's got the cattle movin' south. You see the +high-steppers that are backin' Arguilla ain't trustin' him with a whole +lot of cash, personal. 'Course, what he loots is his. But their money +is goin' for grub and ammunition. They figure if he gets enough cash, +he'll quit. And they don't want him to quit. He thinks he's the big +smoke—but all he is is hired man to big money." +</P> + +<P> +"He's been played, right along—same as us, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Same as us." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Ed, I don't mind takin' a long chanct—but I sure don't aim to +let any man make a monkey of me." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you want to quit this game," said Brevoort. "Why don't you kind +of change hosses and take a fresh start? You ain't been in the game so +long but what you can pull out." +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinkin' of that. But what's a fella goin' to do? Here we be, +ridin' straight for the Olla. Right soon the sun'll be shinin' and the +hosses millin' round in the corral and gittin' warmed up, and Brent'll +be tellin' us he can use us helpin' push them cattle through to the +south end: and I reckon we'll change our saddles and git right to work, +thinkin' all the time of quittin', but keepin' along with the job jest +the same. A fella kind of hates to quit any job till it's done. And I +figure this here deal ain't even started to make trouble—yet. Wait +till the T-Bar-T outfit gits a-goin'; and mebby the Concho, and the +Blue Range boys." +</P> + +<P> +"Hand over your canteen a minute," said Brevoort. "I lost mine in the +get-away." +</P> + +<P> +Dawn found them inside the south line fence. In an hour they were at +the 'dobe and clamoring for breakfast. The cook told them that Brent +was at the north line camp, and had left no word for them. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort glanced quickly at Pete. Evidently Brent had not expected +them to return so soon, if at all. +</P> + +<P> +After breakfast they sauntered to the bunk-house, and pulled off their +boots and lay down. +</P> + +<P> +It was about noon when the cook called them. "The bunch is back," he +said. "Harper just rode in. He says the old man is sore about +somethin'." +</P> + +<P> +"The Spider?" queried Brevoort. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, Sam." +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to ride over?" asked Pete, after the cook had left. +</P> + +<P> +"No. But I'm goin' to throw a saddle on one of the never-sweats and +I'm goin' to pick a good one." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon Blue Smoke'll do for me. You goin' to pull your freight, Ed?" +</P> + +<P> +"We got our runnin' orders. The minute old man Ortez hands over that +cash, there'll be a hole in the scenery where we was." +</P> + +<P> +"That's my idee. But suppose we make it through to El Paso all right. +What do we do next?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's kind of like jumpin' off the aidge of the Grand Cañon and +askin' yourself what you're goin' to do while you're in the air. We +ain't lit yet." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap30"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXX +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BRENT'S MISTAKE +</H3> + +<P> +Following the trail that Brevoort and Pete had taken from the Ortez +rancho, Arguilla and his men rode north and with them rode Ortez and +several of his vaqueros. Within a few miles of the Olla the ragged +soldiery swung west to the shelter of the low hills that ran parallel +to the Olla line, while Ortez and his men rode directly to the Olla +fence and entered a coulee near the big gate, where they waited the +arrival of Brent and the herd. +</P> + +<P> +About two hours before sundown one of Arguilla's lieutenants appeared +on the edge of the coulee where he could overlook the country. At his +signal the soldiers were to join the Ortez riders, but not until Brent +and his men had the cattle delivered. +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla, who was to keep out of sight, had told Ortez to pay the +amount stipulated by Brent—and at the old established rate of twenty +dollars a head—which meant that upon receipt of the cattle Ortez would +give the foreman of the Olla four thousand dollars in gold. Ortez knew +that Arguilla contemplated killing Brent and his men and recovering the +money. Although his sympathies were with his own people, Ortez felt +that such treachery was too black, even for a leader of guerillas. +</P> + +<P> +He realized that the first word of warning to Brent would mean his own +doom and the death of his men in the battle which would follow, for he +knew the Gringo cowboys would fight to the last man. Against this he +weighed the probability of a fight if he did not speak. In either +event he would be dishonored in the eyes of the powers who had trusted +him with handling the finances of the cause. It was in this state of +mind that he waited for the arrival of the men whom he considered +doomed, never imagining for a moment that Brent himself anticipated +treachery. +</P> + +<P> +The sun had almost touched the western sky-line when a solitary rider +spurred out from the great gate of the Olla and up to Ortez, who +recognized in him one of the young vaqueros that had escaped from +Arguilla's guards the preceding night. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's our tally." Pete handed Ortez a slip of paper. "Two hundred +and three head. My patron says to call it two hundred even, and to +give you a receipt for the money when you turn it over to me." +</P> + +<P> +Arguilla's lieutenant had expected to see the herd turned over to Ortez +before the payment of any moneys. He hesitated as to whether or not he +should ride to the rim of the coulee and signal his company to +interfere with the transaction then and there in the name of his +superior officer. The lieutenant did not believe that Ortez would turn +over the money for a mere slip of paper. But Ortez, strangely enough, +seemed only too eager to close the transaction. Stepping to his horse, +he took two small canvas sacks from his saddle-pockets. Still the +lieutenant hesitated. He had had no instructions covering such a +contingency. +</P> + +<P> +"I await your receipt, señor," said Ortez as he handed the money to +Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Pete drew a folded slip of paper from his pocket and gave it quickly to +Ortez. "Brent'll push the cattle through muy pronto." And whirling +his horse round under spur, he was halfway back to the Olla gate before +the lieutenant thought of signaling to Arguilla. +</P> + +<P> +From the vantage of the higher ground the lieutenant could see that the +gate was already open—that the Gringos were slowly pushing the cattle +through, and out to the desert. He waved his serape. Almost on the +instant Arguilla's men appeared in the distance, quirting their ponies +as they raced toward the coulee. The lieutenant turned and gazed at +the herd, which, from bunching through the gateway, had spread out +fanwise. Already the Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge. +But something was happening over near the Olla gate. The American +cowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faint +flashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled. +The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stop +as he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below. Some +thirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho swept +through the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros. Arguilla +saw that his own plan had gone glimmering. Ortez had in some way +played the traitor. Moreover, they were all on American territory. +The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla saw +one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this noble +captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his +countrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south, +followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. There +had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit +his fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down +the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to +change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader's +"strategic retreat." +</P> + +<P> +Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation +of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally +wounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was passed +unnoticed by the returning Americans. +</P> + +<P> +The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Better +mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla +riders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country, +they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of +the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd. +</P> + +<P> +It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the +exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together +from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to his +companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for +him to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted a +lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to +watch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation, +had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north. +He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew also +that they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his glass on +them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the +line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the +visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then he +mounted and took his leisurely way toward space. He knew that the +Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist. +</P> + +<P> +Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading for +Sanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the running +skirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoort +would make for Sanborn—and they had The Spider's money. Brent also +knew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reach +Sanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover—and of +taking them by surprise… +</P> + +<P> +The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla to +within a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti had +sprung up—one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined in +a huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. The +wagon-road passed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest, +and having passed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finally +paralleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brent +had planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery, +Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of the +regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he +realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail, +which joined the main wagon-road. +</P> + +<P> +Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at +six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great +length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at +the livery stable—to be called for later. +</P> + +<P> +At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and his +men, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to considering +their own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso with +several thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla's +backers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between them +that they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete had +made up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch—and have done +with the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, as +much because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in" +with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train, +the big, easy-going Texan would have fallen in with the suggestion +quite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him, +but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him. +Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fair +weather or foul. +</P> + +<P> +Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own more +intimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were to +suggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska—and +Pete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider was +actually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even while +he had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought of +her just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking of +her—even aside from her presence in the patio—that night when the +posse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to the +Ortez rancho—and now he was thinking of her again… He raised his +head and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as the +very sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of the +horses, the sand-muffled sound of their feet… Directly ahead +loomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gestured +toward it. +</P> + +<P> +"They call it the Devil's Graveyard," said Brevoort. "A sizable bunch +of cactus alongside the road. We're closer to Sanborn than I figured." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we can't go any slower 'less we git off and set down," Pete +remarked. "Blue Smoke here is fightin' the bit. He ain't no graveyard +hoss." +</P> + +<P> +"I notice he's been actin' nervous—and only jest recent." +</P> + +<P> +"He always runs his fool head off—if I let him," asserted Pete. And +he fell silent, thinking of Boca and the strange tricks that Fate plays +on the righteous and wicked alike. He was startled out of his reverie +by Brevoort. "Mebby I'm dreamin'," whispered the Texan, "but I'm plumb +certain I seen somethin' drift into that cactus-patch." +</P> + +<P> +"Cattle," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"No. No cattle in these parts." +</P> + +<P> +"Stray—mebby." +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno. Jest sit light in your saddle and watch your hoss's ears. +He'll tell you right quick if there's another hoss in there." +</P> + +<P> +Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinent +reason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti, +which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars. +Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead and +seemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when Blue +Smoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Put 'em up—quick!" came from the shadows. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's hand dropped to his holster, but before he could jerk out his +gun, Brevoort had fired at the sound—once, twice, three times… +Pete heard the trampling of a frightened horse somewhere in the brush. +</P> + +<P> +"I got him," Brevoort was saying. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's face was cold with sweat. "Are you hit, Ed?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"No, he missed me. He was right quick, but I had him lined against +that openin' there before he said a word. If he'd 'a' stood back and +kept still he could have plugged us when we rode past. He was too sure +of his game." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was it, Ed?" +</P> + +<P> +"I got one guess. We got the money. And he got what was comin' to +him." Brevoort swung down and struck a match. "I owed you that, +Brent," he said as the match flared up and went out. +</P> + +<P> +"Brent!" exclaimed Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort mounted and they rode on past the sinister place, in the chill +silence of reaction from the tense and sudden moment when death had +spoken to them from the shadows where now was silence and that +voiceless thing that had once been a man. "Got to kill to live!" Pete +shivered as they swung from the shadows and rode out across the open, +and on down the dim, meandering road that led toward the faint, +greenish light glimmering above the desert station of Sanborn. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap31"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FUGITIVE +</H3> + +<P> +Rodeo, Hachita, Monument—long hours between each town as the local did +its variable thirty-five miles an hour across the southern end of New +Mexico. It was Pete's first experience in traveling by rail, and true +to himself he made the most of it. He used his eyes, and came to the +conclusion that they were aboard a very fast train—a train that "would +sure give a thoroughbred the run of its life"—Pete's standard of speed +being altogether of the saddle—and that more people got on and off +that train than could possibly have homes in that vast and uninhabited +region. The conductor was an exceedingly popular individual. Every +one called him by his "front name," which he acknowledged pleasantly in +like manner. Pete wondered if the uniformed gentleman packed a gun; +and was somewhat disappointed when he discovered that that protuberance +beneath the conductor's brass-buttoned coat was nothing more deadly +than a leather wallet, pretty well filled with bills and loose +silver—for that isolated railroad did a good cash business and +discriminating conductors grew unobtrusively wealthy. And what was +still more strange to Pete was the fact that the conductor seemed to +know where each person was going, without having to refer to any +penciled notation or other evident data. +</P> + +<P> +The conductor was surprisingly genial, even to strangers, for, having +announced that the next station was El Paso, he took the end seat of +the combination baggage and smoking car, spread out his report sheet, +and as he sorted and arranged the canceled tickets, he chatted with +Pete and Brevoort, who sat facing him. Had they heard the news? +Brevoort shook his head. Well, there had been a big fight down along +the line, between the northern cattlemen and Arguilla's soldiers. It +was rumored that several American cowboys had been killed. He had +heard this from the agent at Hermanas, who had "listened in" on the +wire to El Paso. Perhaps they had heard about it, though, as they had +come up from that way. No? Well, the El Paso papers already had the +news, by wire. How was the cattle business going, anyway? +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort said that it was pretty fair. +</P> + +<P> +The conductor knew of a nice little hotel near the station—in fact he +stopped there himself. El Paso was the end of his run. If the boys +were going to see the town, they couldn't do better than to stop at +this hotel. Clean beds, good food, quiet, and reasonable as to rates. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was about to say something when Brevoort touched him gently with +his knee. +</P> + +<P> +"We was lookin' for a place like that," said Brevoort, suddenly +loquacious. "We sure aim to see this town. We just been paid off—we +was workin' for the Bar-Cross—and we figured on seein' a little high +life a-fore we went to punchin' again. Is that hotel you was speakin' +about open all night?" +</P> + +<P> +The conductor chuckled. "Ain't been closed a minute for six years that +I know. Mostly railroad men. And say, if you figure on being in town +more than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room by +the week." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," said Brevoort. "We aim to stay a week, anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, they'll use you all right," asserted the conductor. "And if +you're looking for a place to buy anything—clothes or collars or +shirts—why, right across from the hotel there's as fine a little +clothing-store as you can find in town. The man that runs is a friend +of mine, and he'll use you white. Just tell him I sent you. Stokes is +his name—Len Stokes." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, neighbor," said Brevoort, and Pete thought that Brevoort's +tone was the least bit sarcastic. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right," said the genial conductor. "I always like to see +the boys have a good time." +</P> + +<P> +Pete himself was a trifle suspicious of the conductor's solicitude as +to their welfare, naturally unaware that that worthy official got a +rake-off on all customers mentioning his name at the hotel and +clothing-store. +</P> + +<P> +He gathered up his reports and tickets, snapped a rubber band round +them, and dropped them in his capacious pocket. "We're eight minutes +late," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Now what—" He rose and +made for the end door as the train slowed up and stopped at an isolated +siding. Pete glanced out and saw a little red box of a building, four +or five empty freight cars, and a curve of rail that swung off south +from the main line. No passengers got on or off the train, but Pete +noticed that the conductor was talking earnestly with a hollow-cheeked, +blue-overalled man who had just handed him a slip of paper. +</P> + +<P> +The conductor waved his arm. The train pulled out. A little later he +came and took his seat opposite Pete. Conductor Stokes seemed even +more genial than ever, elaborating on the opportunities for "a good +time" in El Paso, and reiterating the hope that they would make +themselves at home at his hotel. He joked and talked familiarly about +the more notorious sections of the town, warned them to be on the +lookout for thugs, and finally excused himself and entered the baggage +compartment. +</P> + +<P> +Pete saw Brevoort lean forward and hastily snatch up a crumpled slip of +paper which had dropped from the conductor's pocket as he got up. +Brevoort scanned the paper, crumpled it, and tossed it out in the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"We didn't see that," he told Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"What was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Forget it," said Brevoort, as the door opened and the conductor, +glancing about, finally saw and recovered the service wire. "Running +orders," he said, as he stuffed it in his pocket and moved on down the +aisle. Pete gazed out of the window, apparently absorbed in looking at +the desert. Brevoort rolled a cigarette, and nodded casually. +</P> + +<P> +The door in the far end of the car slammed. Brevoort turned to Pete. +"Look straight ahead and—listen. That paper you saw was a telegraph +from the agent at Sanborn sayin' a man had been found shot, and to +watch out for two cow-punchers that bought tickets for El Paso—which +is us. That's how we came to stop at the junction back there, which +ain't a regular stop. It means there'll be a marshal waitin' for us at +El Paso." +</P> + +<P> +"Then let's git off this doggone thing," suggested Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"She stops onct before we git in," said Brevoort. "It's gittin' +dark—and we got one chanct. When she slows down, we go into the +baggage-car there and tell the boss we're lookin' for our war-bag, +which we didn't have. Jest about the time she stops, we drop off. The +side door's open." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll be plumb afoot," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And we'll have to hole up somewhere till we git some +store-clothes—and change our looks—and mebby our luck, which is +runnin' bad right now." +</P> + +<P> +"Do we split up when we hit town?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"We got to: and you want to git rid of that there cash just as quick as +you kin. Got any of your own money on you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Got a couple of month's pay. You got the tickets. I'll give you +that." +</P> + +<P> +"Forget it! Small change don't count right now. Awhile back I was +thinkin' of puttin' it up to you that we split the big money and take a +little pasear up to Alaska, where it ain't so warm. The Spider dassent +squeal to the law, bein' in bad hisself. We could sure make a get-away +with it. But that there telegraph done settled that deal." +</P> + +<P> +"It was settled afore that, Ed." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' you wouldn't split, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what." +</P> + +<P> +"But it's crooked money, Pete. And it ain't lucky. Supposin' we get +caught? Who gits the money? The Spider, or Arguilla's bunch, or you +or me? Not on your life! The cops get it—and keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right. But if I git through, these here pesos goes to that +bank. Anyhow, you said it ain't lucky money. So I aim to git away +from it pronto. Then I'm square with The Spider—and I quit." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't shake the game that easy, Pete. I quit when we started for +Sanborn—and what did we run into? And you bein' with me gits you in +bad, likewise." +</P> + +<P> +"If that's what's botherin' you, why, I'll take the chanct, and stick," +said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. Right now I'm lookin' out for myself, and nobody else. If they +kin hang that last deal onto me—and you know what I mean—why, your +Uncle Ed'll sure have to take the long trail. And I aim to keep +a-ridin' in the sun for a spell yet. We're gittin' clost to town. +Mebby we can drop off easy and sift out of sight without any fuss. +Then we got a chanct to change our clothes and git rid of that dough. +They'll be lightin' the lamps right soon. Them saddle-bags buckled?" +</P> + +<P> +"They sure are." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. When you hear 'em whistle for the crossin' jest stand up +and drop 'em out of the window. Nobody kin see you from behind. Then +we mosey into the baggage-car and tell the agent in there we're lookin' +for our war-bag. Bein' express messenger, he packs a gun. You want to +step lively for that side door." +</P> + +<P> +"I git you, Ed. What's all them lights out there?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the town. She's jest whistlin' for the crossin'. Dump your +freight—easy, like you was lookin' out at the scenery. That's her. +Now, stretch your arms and kind of look round. The conductor is out on +the back platform. Come on!" +</P> + +<P> +The express messenger was leaning from the side door in the act of +swinging a parcel to the local agent at the Grossing, when Brevoort and +Pete entered. With his back toward them and absorbed in launching the +package he did not see them as they angled quickly to the other door +and dropped off into the night. The train slowed almost to a stop, the +grinding brakes eased, and it drew away, leaving Pete and Brevoort +squatting behind a row of empty oil barrels along the track. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap32"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +EL PASO +</H3> + +<P> +As the tail-lights of the train disappeared, Pete and Brevoort rose and +walked down the track several hundred yards. Pete was certain that +they had retraced too far, but Brevoort assured him that he knew about +where to look for the saddle-bags. "I noticed that we passed a pile of +new ties, jest after you dropped 'em," said the Texan. +</P> + +<P> +Pete insisted that they had come too far until they almost walked into +the ties. They searched about in the darkness, feeling along the +ground with their feet, until finally Brevoort stumbled over the +saddle-bags at the bottom of the ditch along the right-of-way. He +picked them up. Pete was still rummaging around as Brevoort +straightened. For an instant the Texan was tempted to keep up the +pretense of searching and so drift farther from Pete, until under cover +of darkness he could decamp with the money—across the border and make +a fresh start with it—as he told himself, "something to start on." +</P> + +<P> +But suddenly, and most absurdly alien to his present mood, came the +vivid recollection of Pete's face when he had smelled those +unforgettable eggs in the box-stall of the Ortez stables. Why this +should have changed Brevoort's hasty inclination is explainable, +perhaps, through that strange transition from the serious to the +humorous; that quick relief from nervous tension that allows a man to +readjust himself toward the universe. Brevoort cursed softly to +himself as he strode to Pete. "Here they are. Found them back there a +piece. Now we got to foot it acrost this end of the town and drift +wide of the white-lights. Down to the south end we kin get somethin' +to eat, and some new clothes. Them Jew stores is open late." +</P> + +<P> +Following the river road they skirted the town until opposite the +Mexican quarter, where, Brevoort explained, they would be comparatively +safe, so long as they attended to their own business. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was amazed by the lights and the clamor—a stringed orchestra +playing in this open front, and a hot-dog vender declaiming in this +open front; a moving-picture entrance brilliantly illuminated, and a +constant movement of folk up and down the streets in free-and-easy +fashion, and he almost forgot the cumulative hazards of their +companionship in experiencing his first plunge into city life. +Brevoort, who knew the town, made for a Mexican lodging-house, where +they took a room above the noisy saloon, washed, and after downing a +drink of vile whiskey, crossed the street to a dingy restaurant. Later +they purchased some inconspicuous "town-clothes" which they carried +back to their room. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was for staying right where they were until morning, but Brevoort, +naturally restless, suggested that they go to a moving-picture theater. +They changed their clothes. Pete felt decidedly uncomfortable in the +coat, and was only persuaded to wear it when Brevoort pointed out that +it was a case of either leave their guns in the room or wear something +to cover them. Then came the question of what they were to do with the +money. Pete was for taking it along with them, but Brevoort vetoed the +suggestion. "It's as safe here as in a bank," he said, and taking the +two sacks from the saddle-pockets he lowered each one gently into the +big water-pitcher. "Nothin' in there but water, which don't interest a +Chola nohow. But I'll cinch it." Which he did downstairs, as he drew +a handful of gold pieces from his pocket, counted them carefully, and +left something like fifty dollars with the proprietor, asking him to +take care of the money for them, as they did not want to get "plumb +broke" the first night in town. The Mexican grinned understandingly. +He was familiar with the ways of cowboys. Their money would be safe +with him. +</P> + +<P> +Outside Pete asked Brevoort if he had not "jest about made a present of +fifty to that Mex." +</P> + +<P> +"Not any. He figures he'll get his share of it when we git to hittin' +the high-spots—which we don't aim to hit, this journey. That Mexican +sure thinks he's got all the money we own except what's on us right +now. So he won't ever think of goin' through our stuff upstairs. That +fifty was insurance on the big money. Let's go where we kin git a real +drink—and then we'll have a look at a show." +</P> + +<P> +The "real drink" was followed by another. When Brevoort suggested a +third, Pete shook his head. "It's all right, if you want to hit it, +Ed—but it's takin' a big chanct. Somethin' might slip. 'T ain't the +drinkin'—but it's the drinkin' right now." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon you 're right," concurred Brevoort. "But I ain't had a drink +for so long—let's go see that show." +</P> + +<P> +They crowded into a cheap and odoriferous nickel theater, and +straightway Pete forgot where he was and all about who he was in +watching the amazing offerings of the screen. The comedy feature +puzzled him. He thought that he was expected to laugh—folks all round +him were laughing—but the unreality of the performance left him +staring curiously at the final tangle of a comedy which struggled to be +funny to the bitter end. His attention was keen for the next picture, +a Western drama, entitled "The Battle of the Border," which ran swiftly +to lurid climax after climax, until even Pete's unsophisticated mind +doubted that any hero could have the astounding ability to get out of +tight places as did the cowboy hero of this picture. This sprightly +adventurer had just killed a carload of Mexicans, leaped from the roof +of an adobe to his horse, and made off into the hills—they were real +hills of the desert country, sure enough—as buoyantly as though he had +just received his pay-check and was in great haste to spend it, never +once glancing back, and putting his horse up grades at a pace that +would have made an old-timer ashamed of himself had he to ride sixty +miles to the next ranch before sundown—as the lead on the picture +stated. Still, Pete liked that picture. He knew that kind of +country—when suddenly he became aware of the tightly packed room, the +foul air laden with the fumes of humanity, stale whiskey, and tobacco, +the shuffling of feet as people rose and stumbled through the darkness +toward the street. Pete thought that was the end of the show, but as +Brevoort made no move to go, he fixed his attention on the screen +again. Immediately another scene jumped into the flickering square. +Pete stiffened. Before him spread a wide cañon. A tiny rider was +coming down the trail from the rim. At the bottom was a Mexican 'dobe, +a ramshackle stable and corral. And there hung the Olla beneath an +acacia. A saddle lay near the corral bars. Several horses moved about +lazily… The hero of the recent gun-fight was riding into the yard… +Some one was coming from the 'dobe. Pete almost gasped as a +Mexican girl, young, lithe, and smiling, stepped into the foreground +and held out her hands as the hero swung from his horse. The girl was +taller and more slender than Boca—yet in the close-up which followed, +while her lover told her of the tribulations he had recently +experienced, the girl's face was the face of Boca—the same sweetly +curved and smiling mouth, the large dark eyes, even the manner in which +her hair was arranged… +</P> + +<P> +Pete nudged Brevoort. "I reckon we better drift," he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"How's that, Pete?" +</P> + +<P> +"The girl there in the picture. Mebby you think I'm loco, but there's +somethin' always happens every time I see her." +</P> + +<P> +"You got a hunch, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"I sure got one." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we play it." And Brevoort rose. They blinked their way to the +entrance, pushed through the crowd at the doorway, and started toward +their room. "I didn't want to say anything in there," Brevoort +explained. "You can't tell who's sittin' behind you. But what was you +gettin' at, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"You recollect my tellin' you about that trouble at Showdown? And the +girl was my friend? Well, I never said nothin' to you about it, but I +git to thinkin' of her and I can kind of see her face like she was +tryin' to tell me somethin', every doggone time somethin's goin' to go +wrong. First off, I said to myself I was loco and it only happened +that way. But the second time—which was when we rode to the Ortez +ranch—I seen her again. Then when we was driftin' along by that +cactus over to Sanborn I come right clost to tellin' you that I seen +her—not like I kin see you, but kind of inside—and I knowed that +somethin' was a-comin' wrong. Then, first thing I know—and I sure +wasn't thinkin' of her nohow—there is her face in that picture. I +tell you, Ed, figuring out your trail is all right, and sure wise—but +I'm gettin' so I feel like playin' a hunch every time." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, a drink will fix you up. Then we'll mosey over to the room. +Our stuff'll be there all right." +</P> + +<P> +"'T ain't the money I'm thinkin' about. It's you and me." +</P> + +<P> +"Forget it!" Brevoort slapped Pete on the shoulder. "Come on in here +and have something." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go you one more—and then I quit," said Pete. For Pete began to +realize that Brevoort's manner was slowly changing. Outwardly he was +the same slow-speaking Texan, but his voice had taken on a curious +inflection of recklessness which Pete attributed to the few but +generous drinks of whiskey the Texan had taken. And Pete knew what +whiskey could do to a man. He had learned enough about that when with +the horse-trader. Moreover, Pete considered it a sort of weakness—to +indulge in liquor when either in danger or about to face it. He had no +moral scruples whatever. He simply viewed it from a utilitarian angle. +A man with the fine edge of his wits benumbed by whiskey was apt to +blunder. And Pete knew only to well that they would have need for all +of their wits and caution to get safely out of El Paso. And to blunder +now meant perhaps a fight with the police—for Pete knew that Brevoort +would never suffer arrest without making a fight—imprisonment, and +perhaps hanging. He knew little of Brevoort's past record, but he knew +that his own would bulk big against him. Brevoort had taken another +drink after they had tacitly agreed to quit. Brevoort was the older +man, and Pete had rather relied on his judgment. Now he felt that +Brevoort's companionship would eventually become a menace to their +safety. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's get back to the room, Ed," he suggested as they came out of the +saloon. +</P> + +<P> +"Hell, we ain't seen one end of the town yet." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' back," declared Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Got another hunch?"—and Brevoort laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. I'm jest figurin' this cold. A good gambler don't drink when +be's playin'. And we're sure gamblin'—big." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon you're right, pardner. Well, we ain't far from our blankets. +Come on." +</P> + +<P> +The proprietor of the rooming-house was surprised to see them return so +soon and so unauspiciously. He counted out Brevoort's money and gave +it back to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Which calls for a round before we hit the hay," said Brevoort. +</P> + +<P> +The room upstairs was hot and stuffy. Brevoort raised the window, +rolled a cigarette and smoked, gazing down on the street, which had +become noisier toward midnight. Pete emptied the pitcher and stowed +the wet sacks of gold in his saddle-pockets. +</P> + +<P> +"Told you everything was all right," said Brevoort, turning to watch +Pete as he placed the saddlebags at the head of the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, so far," concurred Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, pardner, you losin' your nerve? You act so dam' serious. Hell, +we ain't dead yet!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I ain't losin' my nerve. But I'm tellin' you I been plumb scared +ever since I seen that picture. I don't feel right, Ed." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning toward +the window. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face was +tense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of +the window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he began +slowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing we +kin do is to get out of this town quick. We got to split—no way round +that. We're all right so far, but by to-morrow they'll be watchin' +every train and every hotel, and doggin' every stranger to see what +he's doin'. What you want to do is to take them sacks, wrap 'em up in +paper, put ole E. H. Hodges's name on it—he's president of the +Stockmen's Security Bank here, and a ole pal of The Spider's—and pack +it over to the express company and git a receipt. <I>They'll</I> sure git +that money to the bank. And then you want to fan it. If you jest was +to walk out of town, no'th, you could catch a train for Alamogordo, +mebby, and then git a hoss and work over toward the Organ Range, which +is sure open country—and cattle. You can't go back the way we +come—and they'll be watchin' the border south." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is that express outfit, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know that street where we seen the show? Well, if you keep right +on you'll come to the Square and the express company is right on the +corner." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Ed. But what you goin' to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' to git a soogun to-morrow mornin', roll my stuff and head +for the border, afoot. I'm a ranch-hand lookin' for work. I know +where I kin get acrost the river. Then I aim to hit for the dry spot, +bush out, and cross the line where they won't be lookin' for a man +afoot, nohow." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you git to movin' right now?" Brevoort smiled curiously. +"They's two reasons, pardner; one is that I don't want to git stood up +by a somebody wantin' to know where I'm goin' at night with my +war-bag—and I sure aim to take my chaps and boots and spurs and stuff +along, for I'm like to need 'em. Then you ain't out of town yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Which is why you're stickin' around." +</P> + +<P> +"If we only had a couple of hosses, Pete. It's sure hell bein' afoot, +ain't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It sure is. Say, Ed, we got to split, anyhow. Why don't you git to +goin'? It ain't like you was quittin' me cold." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a mighty white kid, Pete. And I'm goin' to tell you right now +that you got a heap more sense and nerve than me, at any turn of the +game. You been goin' round to-night on cold nerve and I been travelin' +on whiskey. And I come so clost to gittin' drunk that I ain't sure I +ain't yet. It was liquor first started me ridin' the high trail." +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort had seated himself on the bed beside Pete. As the big Texan +rolled a cigarette, Pete saw that his hands trembled. For the first +time that evening Pete noticed that his companion was under a high +tension. He could hardly believe that Brevoort's nerve was really +shaken. +</P> + +<P> +The street below had grown quieter. From below came the sound of a +door being closed. Brevoort started, cursed, and glanced at Pete. +"Closin' up for the night," he said. Pete quickly shifted his gaze to +the open window. He did not want Brevoort to know that he had noticed +the start, or those hands that trembled. +</P> + +<P> +They rose early, had breakfast at the restaurant across the street, and +returned to the room, Brevoort with a sogun in which he rolled and +corded his effects and Pete with some brown paper in which he wrapped +the sacks of gold. Brevoort borrowed a pencil from the proprietor and +addressed the package. +</P> + +<P> +"But how's the bank goin' to know who it's from?" queried Pete, +</P> + +<P> +"That's right. I'll put The Spider's name here in the corner. Say, do +you know we're takin' a whole lot of trouble for a man that wouldn't +lift a hand to keep us from bein' sent up?" And Brevoort weighed the +package thoughtfully. "By rights we ought to hang onto this dough. We +earned it." +</P> + +<P> +"I sure don't want any of it, Ed. I'm through with this game." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you're right. Well, next off, you git it to that express +office. I'll wait till you git back." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the use of my comin' back, anyhow?" queried Pete. "We paid for +our room last night." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't you goin' to take your stuff along? You can pack it same as +mine. Then when you git to a ranch you are hooked up to ride." +</P> + +<P> +"Guess you're right, Ed. Well, so-long." +</P> + +<P> +"See you later." +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort, who seemed to have recovered his nerve, added, "I aim to +light out jest as quick as you git back." +</P> + +<P> +Pete was so intent on his errand that he did not see Conductor Stokes, +who stood in the doorway of the El Paso House, talking to a man who had +a rowdy rolled under his arm, wore overalls, and carried a dinner-pail. +The conductor glanced sharply at Pete as he passed, then turned +abruptly, and stepped to a man who stood talking to the clerk at the +desk. +</P> + +<P> +"I jest saw one of 'em," said the conductor. "I never forget a face. +He was rigged out in town-clothes—but it was him—all right." +</P> + +<P> +"You sure, Len?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty darned sure." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we can find out. You set down over there in the window and be +reading a paper. I'll go out and follow him. If he comes back this +way, you take a good look at him and give me the high sign if it's one +of 'em. And if it is, he'll be connectin' up with the other one, +sooner or later. I'll jest keep my eye on him, anyway. You say he had +on a dark suit and is dark-complexioned and young?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—that one. The other was bigger and taller and had light hair and +gray eyes. Both of 'em were in their range clothes on number three." +</P> + +<P> +"All right." And the plain-clothes man hastened out and up the street +until he had "spotted" Pete, just entering the doorway of the express +office. +</P> + +<P> +Pete came out presently, glanced about casually, and started back for +the room. Half a block behind him followed the plain-clothes man, who +glanced in as he passed the hotel. The conductor nodded. The +plain-clothes man hastened on down the street. He saw Pete turn a +corner several blocks south. When the detective arrived at the corner +Pete was just entering the door of the little clothing-store next to +the restaurant. Presently Pete came out and crossed to the saloon. +The detective sauntered down the opposite walk and entering the +restaurant telephoned to headquarters. Then he called for coffee and +sat watching the saloon across the way. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort, who had been sitting on the bed gazing down at the street, +saw Pete turn the corner and enter the store. He also saw the +plain-clothes man enter the restaurant and thought nothing of it until +presently he saw another man enter the place. These two were talking +together at the table near the front window. Brevoort grew suspicious. +The latest arrival had not ordered anything to eat, nor had he greeted +the other as men do when they meet. And they did not seem quite the +type of men to dine in such a place. Pete, cording his belongings in +the new sogun, heard Brevoort muttering something, and turned his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm watchin' a couple of fellas acrost the street," explained +Brevoort. "Keep back out of sight a minute." +</P> + +<P> +Pete, on his knees, watched Brevoort's face. "Anything wrong, Ed?" he +queried presently. +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno. Jest step round behind me. Kin you see that eatin'-place?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see either of them guys when you was out on the street?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no. Hold on a minute! That one with the gray clothes was +standin' on the corner by the express office when I come out. I +recollec' now. He was smokin' a cigar." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And he thrun it away when he went in there. I seen him at the +telephone there on the desk—and pretty soon along comes his friend. +Looks kind of queer that he was up at the Square when you was, and then +trails down here where we be." +</P> + +<P> +"You think mebby—" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno. If it is we better drift out at the back afore any of 'em +gits round there." +</P> + +<P> +"And leave our stuff, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. We got to move quick. They 're sizin' up this buildin' right +now. Don't show yourself. Wait! One of 'em is comin' out and he's +headed over here." +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort drew back, and stepping to the door opened it and strode +swiftly down the dim hall to a window at its farther end. Below the +window was a shed, and beyond the farther edge of the shed-roof was an +alley. He hastened back to the room and closed and locked the door. +"You loco?" he growled. Pete had drawn a chair to the window and was +sitting there, looking out as casually as though there was no danger +whatever. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you made your get-away," said Pete, turning. "I was jest +keepin' that hombre interested in watchin' me. Thought if he seen +somebody here he wouldn't make no quick move to follow you." +</P> + +<P> +"So you figured I quit you, eh? And you go and set in that winda so +they'd think we was in the room here? And you done it to give me a +chanct? Well, you got me wrong. I stick." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I reckon somebody's goin' to git hurt," said Pete, "for I'm goin' +to stick too." +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort shook his head. "The first guy most like come over to ask the +boss who's up here in this room. The boss tells him about us. Now, +them coyotes sure would like it a heap better to git us out on the +street—from behind—than to run up against us holed up here, for they +figure somebody'll git hurt. Now you slip down that hall, easy, and +drop onto the shed under the winda and fan it down the alley back +there. You got a chanct. I sized up the layout." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' doin'. Why don't you try it yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause they'll git one of us, anyhow, and it'll be the fella that +stays." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll flip a dollar to see which stays," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Before Brevoort could speak, Pete drew a dollar from his pocket and +flipped it toward his companion. It fell between them. "I say heads," +said Pete. And he glanced at the coin, which showed tails. "The +dollar says you go, Ed. You want to git a-movin'!" +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort hesitated; Pete rose and urged him toward the door. "So-long, +Ed. If you'd 'a' stayed we'd both got shot up. I'll set in the winda +so they'll think we 're both here." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try her," said Brevoort. "But I'd 'a' stayed—only I knowed you +wouldn't go. So-long, pardner." He pulled his gun and softly unlocked +the door. There was no one in the hall—and no one on the narrow +stairway to the right. He tiptoed to the window, climbed out, and let +himself down to the shed-roof. From the roof he dropped to the alley, +glanced round, and then ran. +</P> + +<P> +Pete locked the door and went back to his chair in front of the window. +He watched the man in the restaurant, who had risen and waved his hand, +evidently acknowledging a signal from some one. It was the man Pete +had seen near the express office—there was no doubt about that. Pete +noticed that he was broad of shoulder, stocky, and wore a heavy gold +watch-chain. He disappeared within the doorway below. Presently Pete +heard some one coming up the uncarpeted stairway—some one who walked +with the tread of a heavy person endeavoring to go silently. A brief +interval in which Pete could hear his own heart thumping, and some one +else ascended the stairway. The boards in the hallway creaked. Some +one rapped on the door. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess this is the finish," said Pete to himself. Had he been +apprehended in the open, in a crowd on the street, he would not have +made a fight. He had told himself that. But to be run to earth this +way—trapped in a mean and squalid room, away from the sunlight and no +slightest chance to get away… He surmised that these men knew +that the men that they hunted would not hesitate to kill. Evidently +they did not know that Brevoort was gone. How could he hold them that +Brevoort might have more time? He hesitated. Should he speak, or keep +silent? +</P> + +<P> +He thought it better to answer the summons. "What do you want?" he +called. +</P> + +<P> +"We want to talk to your partner," said a voice. +</P> + +<P> +"He's sleepin'," called Pete. "He was out 'most all night." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we'll talk with you then." +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead. I'm listenin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose you open the door." +</P> + +<P> +"And jest suppose I don't? My pardner ain't like to be friendly if +he's woke up sudden." +</P> + +<P> +Pete could hear the murmuring of voices as if in consultation. Then, +"All right. We'll come back later." +</P> + +<P> +"Who'll I say wants to see him?" asked Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll know when he sees us. Old friends of his." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Pete had risen and moved softly toward the door. Standing to +one side he listened. He heard footsteps along the hall—and the sound +of some one descending the stairs. "One of 'em has gone down. The +other is in the hall waitin'," he thought. "And both of 'em scared to +bust in that door." +</P> + +<P> +He tiptoed back to the window and glanced down. The heavy-shouldered +man had crossed the street and was again in the restaurant. Pete saw +him step to the telephone. Surmising that the other was telephoning +for reinforcements, Pete knew that he would have to act quickly, or +surrender. He was not afraid to risk being killed in a running fight. +He was willing to take that chance. But the thought of imprisonment +appalled him. To be shut from the sun and the space of the +range—perhaps for life—or to be sentenced to be hanged, powerless to +make any kind of a fight, without friends or money… He thought of +The Spider, of Boca, of Montoya, and of Pop Annersley; of Andy White +and Bailey. He wondered if Ed Brevoort had got clear of El Paso. He +knew that there was some one in the hall, waiting. To make a break for +liberty in that direction meant a killing, especially as Brevoort was +supposed to be in the room. "I'll keep 'em guessin'," he told himself, +and went back to his chair by the window. And if there was supposed to +be another man in the room, why not carry on the play—for the benefit +of the watcher across the street? Every minute would count for or +against Brevoort's escape. +</P> + +<P> +Thrusting aside all thought of his own precarious situation, Pete began +a brisk conversation with his supposed companion. "How does your head +feel?" he queried, leaning forward and addressing the empty bed. He +nodded as if concurring in the answer. +</P> + +<P> +Then, "Uh-huh! Well, you look it, all right!" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't want no breakfast? Well, I done had mine." +</P> + +<P> + .................... +</P> + +<P> +"What's the time? 'Bout ten. Goin' to git up?" +</P> + +<P> + .................... +</P> + +<P> +Pete gestured as he described an imaginative incident relative to his +supposed companion's behavior the preceding night. "Some folks been +here askin' for you." Pete shook his head as though he had been asked +who the callers were. He had turned sideways to the open window to +carry on this pantomimic dialogue. He glanced at the restaurant across +the street. The heavy-shouldered man had disappeared. Pete heard a +faint shuffling sound in the hall outside. Before he could turn the +door crashed inward. He leapt to his feet. With the leap his hand +flashed to his side. Unaccustomed to a coat, his thumb caught in the +pocket just as the man who had shouldered the flimsy door down, reeled +and sprawled on the floor. Pete jerked his hand free, but in that lost +instant a gun roared in the doorway. He crumpled to the floor. The +heavy-shouldered man, followed by two officers, stepped into the room +and glanced about. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought there was two? Where's the other guy?" queried the policeman. +</P> + +<P> +The man on the floor rose and picked up his gun. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we got one, anyhow. Bill, 'phone the chief that one of 'em got +away. Have 'em send the wagon. This kid here is done for, I guess." +</P> + +<P> +"He went for his gun," said the heavy-shouldered man. "It's a dam' +good thing you went down with that door. Gave me a chance to get him." +</P> + +<P> +"Here's their stuff," said an officer, kicking Pete's pack that lay +corded on the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Tim," said the man who had shouldered the door down, "you stay +here till the wagon comes. Bill and I will look around when he gets +back. Guess the other one made for the line. Don't know how he worked +it. Keep the crowd out." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he all in?" queried the officer. +</P> + +<P> +"No; he's breathin' yet. But he ain't got long. He's a young bird to +be a killer." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Late that afternoon Pete was taken from the Emergency to the General +Hospital. Lights were just being turned on in the surgical ward and +the newsboys were shouting an extra, headlining a border raid by the +Mexicans and the shooting of a notorious bandit in El Paso. +</P> + +<P> +The president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank bought a +paper as he stepped into his car that evening and was driven toward +home. He read the account of the police raid, of the escape of one of +the so-called outlaws, the finding of the murdered man near Sanborn, +and a highly colored account of what was designated as the invasion of +the United States territory by armed troops of Mexico. +</P> + +<P> +Four thousand dollars in gold had been delivered to him personally that +day by the express company—a local delivery from a local source. +"Jim's man," he said to himself as the car passed through the Plaza and +turned toward the eastern side of the town. Upon reaching home the +president told his chauffeur to wait. Slitting an envelope he wrapped +the paper and addressed it to James Ewell, Showdown, Arizona. +</P> + +<P> +"Mail it at the first box," he said. "Then you can put the car up. I +won't need it to-night." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The surgeon at the General Hospital was bending over Pete. The surgeon +shook his head, then turning he gave the attendant nurse a few brief +directions, and passed on to another cot. As the nurse sponged Pete's +arm, an interne poised a little glittering needle. "There's just a +chance," the surgeon had said. +</P> + +<P> +At the quick stab of the needle, Pete's heavy eyes opened. The little +gray-eyed nurse smiled. The interne rubbed Pete's arm and stepped +back. Pete's lips moved. The nurse bent her head. "Did—Ed"—Pete's +face twitched—"make it?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't talk," said the nurse gently. And wishing with all her +heart to still the question that struggled in those dark, anxious eyes, +she smiled again. "Yes, he made it," she said, wondering if Ed were +the other outlaw that the papers had said had escaped. She walked +briskly to the end of the room and returned with a dampened towel and +wiped the dank sweat from Pete's forehead. He stared up at her, his +face white and expressionless. "It was the coat—my hand caught," he +murmured. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded brightly, as though she understood. She did not know what +his name was. There had been nothing by which to identify him. And +she could hardly believe that this youth, lying there under that black +shadow that she thought never would lift again, could be the desperate +character the interne made him out to be, retailing the newspaper +account of his capture to her. +</P> + +<P> +It was understood, even before the doctor had examined Pete, that he +could not live long. The police surgeon had done what he could. Pete +had been removed to the General Hospital, as the Emergency was crowded. +</P> + +<P> +The little nurse was wondering if he had any relatives, any one for +whom he wished to send. Surely he must realize that he was dying! She +was gazing at Pete when his eyes slowly opened and the faintest trace +of a smile touched his lips. His eyes begged so piteously that she +stepped close to the cot and stooped. She saw that he wanted to ask +her something, or tell her something that was worrying him. "What did +it matter?" she thought. At any moment he might drift into +unconsciousness… +</P> + +<P> +"Would you—write—to The Spider—and say I delivered the—goods?" +</P> + +<P> +"But who is he—where—" +</P> + +<P> +"Jim Ewell, Showdown—over in—Arizona." +</P> + +<P> +"Jim Ewell, Showdown, Arizona." she repeated. "And what name shall I +sign?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jest Pete," he whispered, and his eyes closed. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Pete's case puzzled Andover, the head-surgeon at, the General. It was +the third day since Pete's arrival and he was alive—but just alive and +that was all. One peculiar feature of the case was the fact that the +bullet—a thirty-eight—which had pierced the right lung, had not gone +entirely through the body. Andover, experienced in gun-shot wounds, +knew that bullets fired at close range often did freakish things. +There had been a man recently discharged from the General as +convalescent, who had been shot in the shoulder, and the bullet, +striking the collar-bone, had taken a curious tangent, following up the +muscle of the neck and lodging just beneath the ear. In that case +there had been the external evidence of the bullet's location. In this +case there was no such evidence to go by. +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon of the third day, Pete was taken to the operating room +and another examination made. The X-ray showed a curious blur near the +right side of the spine. To extract the bullet would be a difficult +and savage operation, an operation which the surgeon thought his +patient in his present weakened condition could not stand. Pete lay in +a heavy stupor, his left arm and the left side of his face partially +paralyzed. +</P> + +<P> +The day after his arrival at the General two plain-clothes men came to +question him. He was conscious and could talk a little. But they had +learned nothing of his companion, the killing of Brent, nor how +Brevoort managed to evade them. They gathered little of Pete's history +save that he told them his name, his age, and that he had no relatives +nor friends. On all other subjects he was silent. Incidentally the +officials gave his name to the papers, and the papers dug into their +back files for reference to an article they had clipped from the +"Arizona Sentinel," which gave them a brief account of the Annersley +raid and the shooting of Gary. They made the most of all this, writing +a considerable "story," which the president of the Stockmen's Security +read and straightway mailed to his old acquaintance, The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +The officers from the police station had told Pete bluntly that he +could not live, hoping to get him to confess to or give evidence as to +the killing of Brent. Pete at once knew the heavy-shouldered man—the +man who had shot him down and who was now keen on getting evidence in +the case. +</P> + +<P> +"So I'm goin' to cross over?" Pete had said, eying the other curiously. +"Well, all I wish is that I could git on my feet long enough—to—get a +crack at you—on an even break. I wouldn't wear no coat, neither." +</P> + +<P> +The fact that Pete had bungled seemed to worry him much more than his +condition. He felt that it was a reflection on his craftmanship. The +plain-clothes man naturally thought that Pete was incorrigible, failing +to appreciate that it was the pride of youth that spoke rather than the +personal hatred of an enemy. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap33"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT +</H3> + +<P> +That the news of Pete's serious condition should hit The Spider as hard +as it did was as big a surprise to The Spider himself as it could ever +have been to his closest acquaintance. Yet it was a fact—and The +Spider never quarreled with facts. +</P> + +<P> +The spider of the web-weaving species who leaves his web, invites +disaster unless he immediately weaves another, and The Spider of +Showdown was only too well aware of this. Always a fatalist, he took +things as they came, but had never yet gone out of his way to tempt the +possibilities. +</P> + +<P> +Shriveled and aged beyond his natural years, with scarcely a true +friend among his acquaintances, weary of the monotony of life—not in +incident but in prospect—too shrewd to drug himself with drink, and +realizing that the money he had got together both by hook and by crook +and banked in El Paso could never make him other than he was, he faced +the alternative of binding himself to Pete's dire need and desperate +condition, or riding to Baxter and taking the train from thence to El +Paso—his eyes open to what he was doing, both as a self-appointed +Samaritan and as a much-wanted individual in the town where Pete lay +unconscious, on the very last thin edge of Nothingness. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider's preparations for leaving Showdown were simple enough. He +had his Mexican bale and cord the choicest of the rugs and blankets, +the silver-studded saddle and bridle, the Bayeta cloth—rare and +priceless—and the finest of his Indian beadwork. Each bale was +tagged, and on each tag was written the name of Boca's mother. All +these things were left in his private room, which he locked. Whether +or not he surmised what was going to happen is a question—but he did +not disregard possibilities. +</P> + +<P> +His Mexican was left in charge of the saloon with instructions to keep +it open as usual, tell no one where his master had gone, and wait for +further instructions. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider chose a most ordinary horse from his string and wore a most +ordinary suit of clothes. The only things in keeping with his lined +and weathered face were his black Stetson and his high-heeled boots. +He knew that it would be impossible to disguise himself. He would be +foolish to make the attempt. His bowed legs, the scar running from +chin to temple, his very gait made disguise impossible. To those who +did not know him he would be an "old-timer" in from the desert. To +those who did know him… Well, they were not many nor over-anxious +to advertise the fact. +</P> + +<P> +He left at night, alone, and struck south across the desert, riding +easily—a shrunken and odd figure, but every inch a horseman. Just +beneath his unbuttoned vest, under his left arm, hung the +service-polished holster of his earlier days. He had more than enough +money to last him until he reached El Paso, and a plentiful stock of +cigars. It was about nine o'clock next morning when he pulled up at +Flores's 'dobe and dismounted stiffly. Flores was visibly surprised +and fawningly obsequious. His chief was dressed for a long journey. +It had been many years since The Spider had ridden so far from +Showdown. Something portentous was about to happen, or had happened. +</P> + +<P> +Flores's wife, however, showed no surprise, but accepted The Spider's +presence in her usual listless manner. To her he addressed himself as +she made coffee and placed a chair for him. They talked of Boca—-and +once The Spider spoke of Boca's mother, whom the Señora Flores had +known in Mexico. +</P> + +<P> +Old Flores fed The Spider's horse, meanwhile wondering what had drawn +the chief from the security of his web. He concluded that The Spider +was fleeing from some danger—-the law, perhaps, or from some ancient +grudge that had at last found him out to harry him into the desert, a +hunted man and desperate. The Mexican surmised that The Spider had +money with him, perhaps all his money—for local rumor had it that The +Spider possessed great wealth. And of course he would sleep there that +night… +</P> + +<P> +Upon returning to the 'dobe Flores was told by The Spider to say +nothing of having seen him. This confirmed the old Mexican's suspicion +that The Spider had fled from danger. And Flores swore by the saints +that none should know, while The Spider listened and his thin lips +twitched. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd knife me in my bed for less than half the money on me," he told +Flores. +</P> + +<P> +The Mexican started back, as though caught in the very act, and whined +his allegiance to The Spider. Had he not always been faithful? +</P> + +<P> +"No," said The Spider, "but the señora has." +</P> + +<P> +Flores turned and shuffled toward the corral. The Spider, standing in +the doorway of the 'dobe, spoke to Flores's wife over his shoulder: "If +I don't show up before next Sunday, señora, get your man to take you to +Showdown. Juan will give you the money, and the things I left up +there." +</P> + +<P> +"You will not come back," said the Mexican woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know but that you are right—but you needn't tell Flores that." +</P> + +<P> +An hour later The Spider had Flores bring up his horse. He mounted and +turned to glance round the place. He shrugged his shoulders. In a few +minutes he was lost to sight on the trail south which ran along the +cañon-bed. +</P> + +<P> +That night he arrived at Baxter, weary and stiff from his long ride. +He put his horse in the livery-stable and paid for its keep in +advance—"a week," he said, and "I'll be back." +</P> + +<P> +Next morning he boarded the local for El Paso. He sat in the +smoking-compartment, gazing out on the hurrying landscape. At noon he +got off the train and entered an eating-house across from the station. +When he again took his seat in the smoker he happened to glance out. +On the platform was a square-built, sombrero'd gentleman, his back to +the coach and talking to an acquaintance. There was something familiar +in the set of those shoulders. The Spider leaned forward that he might +catch a glimpse of the man's face. Satisfied as to the other's +identity, he leaned back in his seat and puffed his cigar. The Spider +made no attempt to keep from sight. The square-shouldered man was the +town marshal of Hermanas. As the train pulled out, the marshal turned +and all but glanced up when the brakeman, swinging to the steps of the +smoker, reached out and playfully slapped him on the shoulder. The car +slid past. The Spider settled himself in his seat. +</P> + +<P> +With the superstition of the gambler he believed that he would find an +enemy in the third person to recognize him, and with a gambler's stolid +acceptance of the inevitable he relaxed and allowed himself to plan for +the immediate future. On Pete's actual condition would depend what +should be done. The Spider drew a newspaper clipping from his pocket. +The El Paso paper stated that there was one chance in a thousand of +Pete recovering. The paper also stated that there had been money +involved—a considerable sum in gold—which had not been found. The +entire affair was more or less of a mystery. It was hinted that the +money might not have been honestly come by in the first place, +and—sententiously—that crime breeds crime, in proof of which, the +article went on to say; "the man who had been shot by the police was +none other than Pete Annersley, notorious as a gunman in the service of +the even more notorious Jim Ewell, of Showdown, or 'The Spider,' as he +was known to his associates." Followed a garbled account of the raid +on the Annersley homestead and the later circumstance of the shooting +of Gary, all of which, concluded the item, spoke for itself. +</P> + +<P> +"More than Pete had a chance to do," soliloquized The Spider. "They +got the kid chalked up as a crook—and he's as straight as a die." And +strangely enough this thought seemed to please The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +Shouldering through the crowd at the El Paso station, The Spider rubbed +against a well-dressed, portly Mexican who half-turned, showed surprise +as he saw the back of a figure which seemed familiar—the bowed legs +and peculiar walk—and the portly Mexican, up from the south because +certain financial interests had backed him politically were becoming +decidedly uncertain, named a name, not loudly, but distinctly and with +peculiar emphasis. The Spider heard, but did not heed nor hurry. A +black-shawled Mexican woman carrying a baby blundered into the portly +Mexican. He shoved her roughly aside. She cursed him for a pig who +robbed the poor—for he was known to most Mexicans—and he so far +forgot his dignity and station as to curse her heartily in return. The +Spider meanwhile was lost in the crowd that banked the station platform. +</P> + +<P> +El Paso had grown—was not the El Paso of The Spider's earlier days, +and for a brief while he forgot his mission in endeavoring mentally to +reconstruct the old town as he had known it. Arrived at the Plaza he +turned and gazed about. "Number two," he said to himself, recalling +the portly Mexican—and the voice. He shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +His request to see the president of the Stockmen's Bank was borne +hesitatingly to that individual's private office, the messenger +returning promptly with instructions to "show the gentleman in." +</P> + +<P> +Contrary to all precedent the president, Hodges, was not portly, but a +man almost as lean as The Spider himself; a quick, nervous man, +forceful and quite evidently "self-made." +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, Jim." +</P> + +<P> +The Spider pulled up a chair. "About that last deposit—" +</P> + +<P> +The president thrust his hand into a pigeon-hole and handed The Spider +a slip of paper. +</P> + +<P> +"So he got here with the cash before they nailed him?" And The Spidery +face expressed surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"The money came by express—local shipment. I tried to keep it out of +the papers. None of their dam' business." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to close my account," stated The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Going south?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I got some business in town. After that—" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you've got <I>no</I> business in town. Why didn't you write?" +</P> + +<P> +"You couldn't handle it. Figure up my credit—and give me a draft for +it, I'll give you my check. Make it out to Peter Annersley," said The +Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"One of your gunmen, eh? I see by the papers he's got a poor chance of +using this." +</P> + +<P> +"So have I," and The Spider almost smiled. +</P> + +<P> +Hodges pushed back his chair. "See here, Jim. You've got no business +in this town and you know it! And you've got enough money to keep you +comfortable anywhere—South America, for instance. Somebody'll spot +you before you've been here twenty-four hours. Why don't you let me +call a taxi—there's a train south at eleven-thirty." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, E.H.—but I'm only going over to the hospital." +</P> + +<P> +"You sure will, if you stick around this town long." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to see that boy through," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you're not after any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not that way." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you got me guessing. I thought I knew you." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby, Ed. Now, if the boy comes through all right, and I don't, I +want you to see that he gets this money. There's nobody in town can +identify him but me—and mebby I won't be around here to do it. If he +comes here and tells you he's Pete Annersley and that The Spider told +him to come, hand him the draft. 'Course, if things go smooth, I'll +take care of that draft myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Making your will, Jim?" +</P> + +<P> +"Something like that." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I might as well talk to the moon. I used to think that +you were a wise one—" +</P> + +<P> +"Just plain dam' fool, same as you, E.H. The only difference is that +you're tryin' to help <I>me</I> out—and I aim to help out a kid that is +plumb straight." +</P> + +<P> +"But I have some excuse. If it hadn't been for you when I was down +south on that Union Oil deal—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ed, we're both as crooked as they make 'em, only you play your game +with stocks and cash, inside—and I play mine outside, and she's a lone +hand. This kid, Pete, is sure a bad hombre to stack up against—but +he's plumb straight." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem to think a whole lot of him." +</P> + +<P> +"I do," said The Spider simply. +</P> + +<P> +The president shook his head. The Spider rose and stuck out his hand. +"So-long, Ed." +</P> + +<P> +"So-long, Jim. I'll handle this for you. But I hate like hell to +think it's the last time I <I>can</I> handle a deal for you." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't tell," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +The president of the Stockmen's Security sat turning over the papers on +his desk. It had been a long while since he had been in the +saddle—some eighteen or twenty years. As a young man he had been sent +into Mexico to prospect for oil. There were few white men in Mexico +then. But despite their vicarious callings they usually stood by each +other. The Spider, happening along during a quarrel among the natives +and the oil-men, took a hand in the matter, which was merely incidental +to his profession. The oil-men had managed to get out of that part of +the country with the loss of but two men—a pretty fair average, as +things went those days. Years afterwards the president of the +Stockmen's Security happened to meet The Spider in El Paso—and he did +not forget what he owed him. The Spider at that time had considerable +gold which he finally banked with the Stockmen's Security at the +other's suggestion. The arrangement was mutually agreeable. The +Spider knew that the president of the Stockmen's Security would never +disclose his identity to the authorities—and Hodges felt that as a +sort of unofficial trustee he was able to repay The Spider for his +considerable assistance down in Mexico. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap34"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DORIS +</H3> + +<P> +Contrast to the rules of the hospital, the head-surgeon was chatting +rather intimately with Pete's nurse. They were in the anteroom of the +surgical ward. She was getting ready to go on duty. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Miss Gray," said the surgeon positively, "he can't hold out much +longer unless we operate. And I don't think he could stand an +operation. He has amazing vitality, he's young, and in wonderful +condition—outdoor life and pretty clean living. But he don't seem to +care whether he lives or not. Has he said anything to you about—" +The surgeon paused and cleared his throat. +</P> + +<P> +"No. He just stares at me. Sometimes he smiles—and, Dr. Andover, +I've been here two years—and I'm used to it, but I simply can't help +feeling—that he ought to have a chance." +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon studied her wistful face and for a moment forgot that he +was the head-surgeon of the General, and that she was a nurse. He +liked Doris Gray because of her personality and ability. Two years of +hard work at the General had not affected her quietly cheerful manner. +</P> + +<P> +"You're wearing yourself out worrying about this case," said the +surgeon presently. "And that won't do at all." +</P> + +<P> +She flushed and her seriousness vanished. "I'm willing to," she said +simply. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor smiled and shook his finger at her. "Miss Gray, you know a +good nurse—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know, Dr. Andover, but he hasn't a friend in the world. I asked him +yesterday if I should write to any one, or do anything for him. He +just smiled and shook his head. He doesn't seem to be afraid of +anything—nor interested in anything. He—oh, his eyes are just like +the eyes of a dog that is hurt and wants so much to tell you something, +and can't. I don't care what the newspapers say—and those men from +the police station! I don't believe he is really bad. Now please +don't smile and tell me I'm silly." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you just said he didn't have a friend in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't count—that way." Then hurriedly: "I forgot—he did ask +me to write to some one—the first day—a Jim Ewell, in Arizona. He +asked me to say he had 'delivered the goods.' I don't know that I +should have done it without reporting it, but—well, you said he +couldn't live—" +</P> + +<P> +"Some outlaw pal of his, probably," said Andover, frowning. "But that +has nothing to do with his—er—condition right now." +</P> + +<P> +"And sometimes he talks when he is half-conscious, and he often speaks +to some one he calls 'The Spider,'" asserted Doris. +</P> + +<P> +"Queer affair. Well, I'll think about it. If we do operate, I'll want +you—" +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon was interrupted by a nurse who told him there was a man who +wanted to see Peter Annersley: that the man was insistent. The +head-nurse was having supper, and should the caller be allowed in after +visiting hours? +</P> + +<P> +"Send him in," said the surgeon, and he stepped into the +superintendent's office. Almost immediately The Spider sidled across +the hallway and entered the room. The surgeon saw a short, shriveled, +bow-legged man, inconspicuously dressed save for his black Stetson and +the riding-boots which showed below the bottom of his trousers. The +Spider's black beady eyes burned in his weather-beaten and scarred +face—"the eyes of a hunted man"—thought the surgeon. In a peculiar, +high-pitched voice, he asked Andover if he were the doctor in charge. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm Andover, head-surgeon," said the other. "Won't you sit down?" +</P> + +<P> +The other glanced round. Andover got up and closed the door. "You +wish to see young Annersley, I understand." +</P> + +<P> +"You looking after him?" +</P> + +<P> +Andover nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he hurt pretty bad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I doubt if he will recover." +</P> + +<P> +"Can I see him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well,"—and the surgeon hesitated,—"it's after hours. But I don't +suppose it will do any harm. You are a friend of his?" +</P> + +<P> +"About the only one, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"Well—I'll step in with you. He may be asleep. If he is—" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't bother him." +</P> + +<P> +The nurse met them, and put her finger to her lips. Andover nodded and +stepped aside as The Spider hobbled to the cot and gazed silently at +Pete's white face. Then The Spider turned abruptly and hobbled down +the aisle, followed by Andover. "Come in here," said the surgeon as +The Spider hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +Andover told him briefly that there was one chance in a thousand of +Pete's recovery; that the shock had been terrific, describing just +where the bullet was lodged and its effect upon the sensory nerves. +Andover was somewhat surprised to find that this queer person knew +considerable about gun-shot wounds and was even more surprised when The +Spider drew a flat sheaf of bills from his pocket and asked what an +operation would cost. Andover told him. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider immediately counted out the money and handed it to Andover. +"And get him in a room where he can be by himself. I'll pay for it." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, but if he should not recover from the operation—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm gambling that he'll pull through," said The Spider. "And there's +my ante. It's up to you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have a receipt made out—" +</P> + +<P> +The Spider shook his bead. "His life'll be my receipt. And you're +writing it—don't make no mistake." +</P> + +<P> +Andover's pale face flushed. "I'm not accustomed to having my +reputation as a surgeon questioned." +</P> + +<P> +"See here," said The Spider, laying another packet of bills on the +surgeon's desk. "Where I come from money talks. And I reckon it ain't +got tongue-tied since I was in El Paso last. Here's a thousand. Pull +that boy through and forget where you got the money." +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't do more if you said ten thousand," asserted Andover. +</P> + +<P> +"Gambling is my business," said The Spider. "I raise the ante. Do you +come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"This is not a sporting proposition,"—Andover hesitated,—"but I'll +come in," he added slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"You're wrong," said The Spider; "everything is a sporting proposition +from the day a man is born till he cashes in, and mebby after. I don't +know about that, and I didn't come here to talk. My money 'll talk for +me." +</P> + +<P> +Andover, quite humanly, was thinking that a thousand dollars would help +considerably toward paying for the new car that he had had in mind for +some time. He used a car in his work and he worked for the General +Hospital. His desire to possess a new car was not altogether +professional, and he knew it. But he also knew that he was overworked +and underpaid. +</P> + +<P> +"Who shall I say called?" asked Andover, picking up the packet of bills. +</P> + +<P> +"Just tell him it was a friend." +</P> + +<P> +Andover was quite as shrewd in his way as was this strange visitor, who +evidently did not wish to be known. "This entire matter is rather +irregular," he said,—"and the—er—bonus—is necessarily a +confidential matter!" +</P> + +<P> +"Which suits me,"—and The Spider blinked queerly. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Andover stepped to the main doorway. As he bade The Spider +good-night, he told him to call up on the telephone about ten-thirty +the next morning, or to call personally if he preferred. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider hesitated directly beneath the arc-light at the entrance. +"If I don't call up or show up—you needn't say anything about this +deal to him—but you can tell him he's got a friend on the job." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor nodded and walked briskly back to the superintendent's +office, where he waited until the secretary appeared, when he turned +over the money that had been paid to him for the operation and a +private room, which The Spider had engaged for two weeks. He told the +secretary to make out a receipt in Peter Annersley's name. "A friend +is handling this for him," he explained. +</P> + +<P> +Then he sent for the head-nurse. "I would like to have Miss Gray and +Miss Barlow help me," he told her, in speaking of the proposed +operation. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Gray is on duty to-night," said the head-nurse. +</P> + +<P> +"Then if you will arrange to have her get a rest, please. And—oh, +yes, we'll probably need the oxygen. And you might tell Dr. Gleason +that this is a special case and I'd like to have him administer the +anaesthetic." +</P> + +<P> +Andover strode briskly to the surgical ward and stopped at Pete's +couch. As he stooped and listened to Pete's breathing, the packet of +crisp bills slipped from his inside pocket, and dropped to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +He was in the lobby, on his way to his car, when Doris came running +after him. "Dr. Andover," she called. "I think you dropped +this,"—and she gave him the packet of bills. +</P> + +<P> +"Mighty careless of me," he said, feeling in his inside pocket. +"Handkerchief—slipped them in on top of it. Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +Doris gazed at him curiously. His eyes wavered. "We're going to do +our best to pull him through," he said with forced sprightliness. +</P> + +<P> +Doris smiled and nodded. But her expression changed as she again +entered the long, dim aisle between the double row of cots. Only that +evening, just before she had talked with Andover about Pete, she had +heard the surgeon tell the house-physician jokingly that all that stood +between him and absolute destitution was a very thin and exceedingly +popular check-book—and Andover had written his personal check for ten +dollars which he had cashed at the office. Doris wondered who the +strange man was that had come in with Andover, an hour ago, and how Dr. +Andover had so suddenly become possessed of a thousand dollars. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap35"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME" +</H3> + +<P> +At exactly ten-thirty the next morning The Spider was at the +information desk of the General Hospital, inquiring for Andover. +</P> + +<P> +"He's in the operating-room," said the clerk. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll wait." The Spider sidled across to the reception-room and +sat nervously fingering the arm of his chair. Nurses passed and +repassed the doorway, going quietly through the hall. From somewhere +came the faint animal-like wail of a newly born babe. The Spider had +gripped the arm of his chair. A well-gowned woman stopped at the +information desk and left a great armful of gorgeous roses wrapped in +white tissue paper. Presently a man—evidently a laborer—hobbled past +on crutches, his foot bandaged; a huge, grotesque white foot that he +held stiffly in front of him and which he seemed to be following, +rather than guiding. A nurse walked slowly beside him. The Spider +drummed the chair-arm with nervous fingers. His little beady eyes were +constantly in motion, glancing here and there,—at the empty chairs in +the room, at the table with its neatly piled magazines, at a large +picture of the hospital, and a great group of nurses standing on the +stone steps, and then toward the doorway. Presently a nurse came in +and told him that Dr. Andover would be unable to see him for some time: +that the patient just operated on was doing as well as could be +expected. +</P> + +<P> +"He—he's come through all right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You might call up in an hour or so." +</P> + +<P> +The Spider rose stiffly and put on his hat. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," he said and hobbled out and across the lobby. A cab was +waiting for him, and the driver seemed to know his destination, for he +whipped up his horse and drove south toward the Mexican quarter, +finally stopping at an inconspicuous house on a dingy side street that +led toward the river. The Spider glanced up and down the street before +he alighted. Then he gave the driver a bill quite out of proportion to +his recent service. "You can come about the same time to-morrow," said +The Spider, and he turned and hobbled to the house. +</P> + +<P> +About noon he came out, and after walking several blocks stopped at a +corner grocery and telephoned to the hospital, asking for Andover, who +informed him that the operation had been successful, as an operation, +but that the patient was in a critical condition—that it would be +several hours before they would dare risk a definite statement as to +his chances of recovery. The surgeon told The Spider that they were +using oxygen, which fact in itself was significant. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider crossed the street to a restaurant, drank several cups of +coffee, and on his way out bought a supply of cigars. He played +solitaire in his room all that afternoon, smoking and muttering to +himself until the fading light caused him to glance at his watch. He +slipped into his coat and made his way uptown. +</P> + +<P> +Shortly after seven he entered the hospital. Andover had left word +that he be allowed to see Pete. And again The Spider stood beside +Pete's cot, gazing down upon a face startlingly white in contrast to +his dark hair and black eyebrows—a face drawn, the cheeks pinched, and +the lips bloodless. "You taking care of him?"—and The Spider turned +to Doris. She nodded, wondering if this queer, almost deformed +creature were "The Spider" that Pete had so often talked to when +half-conscious. Whoever he was, her quick, feminine intuition told her +that this man's stiff and awkward silence signified more than any +spoken solicitude; that behind those beady black eyes was a soul that +was tormented with doubt and hope, a soul that had battled through dark +ways to this one great unselfish moment… How could one know that +this man risked his life in coming there? Yet she did know it. The +very fact that he was Pete's friend would almost substantiate that. +Had not the papers said that Peter Annersley was a hired gunman of The +Spider's? And although this man had not given his name, she knew that +he was The Spider of Pete's incoherent mutterings. And The Spider, +glancing about the room, gazed curiously at the metal oxygen tank and +then at the other cot. +</P> + +<P> +"You staying here right along?" he queried. +</P> + +<P> +"For a while until he is out of danger." +</P> + +<P> +"When will that be?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. But I do know that he is going to live." +</P> + +<P> +"Did the doc say so?" +</P> + +<P> +Doris shook her head. "No, Dr. Andover thinks he has a chance, but I +<I>know</I> that he will get well." +</P> + +<P> +"Does Pete know that I been here?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. The doctor thought it best not to say anything about that yet." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon that's right." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he your son?" asked Doris. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Just a kid that used to—work for me." +</P> + +<P> +And without further word, The Spider hobbled to the doorway and was +gone. +</P> + +<P> +Hour after hour Doris sat by the cot watching the faintly flickering +life that, bereft of conscious will, fought for existence with each +deep-drawn breath. About two in the morning Pete's breathing seemed to +stop. Doris felt the hesitant throb of the pulse and, rising, stepped +to the hall and telephoned for the house-surgeon. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Caught it just in time," he said to the nurse as he stepped back and +watched the patient react to the powerful heart-stimulant. Pete's +breathing became more regular. +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon had been gone for a few minutes when Pete's heavy lids +opened. +</P> + +<P> +"It—was gittin'—mighty dark—down there," he whispered. And Pete +stared up at her, his great dark eyes slowly brightening under the +artificial stimulant. Doris bent over him and smoothed his hair back +from his forehead. "I'm the—the Ridin' Kid—from—Powder River," he +whispered hoarsely. "I kin ride 'em comin' or goin'—but I don't wear +no coat next journey. My hand caught in the pocket." He glanced +toward the doorway. "But we fooled 'em. Ed got away, so I reckon I'll +throw in with you, Spider." Pete tried to lift himself up, but the +nurse pressed him gently back. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on his +forehead. Doris put her hand on the back of his. At the touch his +lips moved. "Boca was down there—in the dark—smilin' and tellin' me +it was all right and to come ahead," he whispered. "I was tryin' to +climb out—of that there—cañon… Andy throwed his rope… +Caught it just in time… And Andy he laughs. Reckon he didn't +know—I was—all in…" Pete breathed deeply, muttered, and drifted +into an easy sleep. Doris watched him for a while, fighting her own +desire to sleep. She knew that the crisis was past, and with that +knowledge came a physical let-down that left her worn and desperately +weary: not because she had been on duty almost twenty-four hours +without rest—she was young and could stand that—but because she had +given so much of herself to this case from the day Pete had been +brought in—through the operation which was necessarily savage, and up +to the moment when he had fallen asleep, after having passed so close +to the border of the dark Unknown. And now that she knew he would +recover, she felt strangely disinterested in her work at the hospital. +But being a rather practical young person, never in the least morbid, +she attributed this unusual indifference to her own condition. She +would not allow herself to believe that the life she had seen slipping +away, and which she had drawn back from the shadows, could ever mean +anything to her, aside from her profession. And why should it? This +dark-eyed boy was a stranger, an outcast, even worse, if she were to +believe what the papers said of him. Yet he had been so patient and +uncomplaining that first night when she knew that he must have been +suffering terribly. Time and again she had wiped the red spume from +his lips, until at last he ceased to gasp and cough and lay back +exhausted. And Doris could never forget how he had tried to smile as +he told her, whispering hoarsely, "that he was plumb ashamed of makin' +such a doggone fuss." Then day after day his suffering had grown less +as his vitality ebbed. Following, came the operation, an almost +hopeless experiment … and that strange creature, The Spider … +who had paid for the operation and for this private room… Doris +thought of the thousand dollars in bills that she had found and +returned to Andover; and while admiring his skill as a surgeon, she +experienced a sudden dislike for him as a man. It seemed to her that +he had been actually bribed to save Pete's life, and had pocketed the +bribe … again it was The Spider… What a name for a human +being—yet how well it fitted! The thin bow-legs, the quick, sidling +walk, the furtive manner, the black, blinking eyes… Doris yawned +and shivered. Dawn was battling its slow way into the room. A nurse +stepped in softly. Doris rose and made a notation on the chart, told +the nurse that her patient had been sleeping since two o'clock, and +nodding pleasantly left the room. +</P> + +<P> +The new nurse sniffed audibly. Miss Gray was one of Dr. Andover's +pets! She knew! She had seen them talking together, often enough. +And Andover knew better than to try to flirt with her. What a fuss +they were making about "Miss Gray's cowboy," as Pete had come to be +known among some of the nurses who were not "pets." Her pleasant +soliloquy was interrupted by a movement of Pete's hand. "Kin I have a +drink?" he asked faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dearie," said the nurse, and smiled a large, and toothful smile +as she turned and stepped out into the hall. Pete's listless, dark +eyes followed her. "Fer Gawd's sake!" he muttered. His eyes closed. +He wondered what had become of his honest-to-Gosh nurse, Miss Gray. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap36"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WHITE-EYE +</H3> + +<P> +The third time that The Spider called at the hospital, and, as usual, +in the evening, he was told by the young house-doctor, temporarily in +charge, that he could not see the patient in room 218 without +permission from the physician in charge of the case, as it was after +visiting hours, and, moreover, there had been altogether too much +freedom allowed visitors as it was. This young doctor knew nothing of +The Spider's connection with the Annersley case, and was altogether +unimpressed by The Spider's appearance, save that he mentally labeled +him a "rough-neck" who was evidently pretty badly crippled by +rheumatism. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider felt tempted to resort to bribery, but there was something +so officious and aggressively professional in the manner of this +"straw-boss"—as The Spider mentally labeled him—that The Spider +hesitated to flatter his egotism by admitting that he held the +whip-hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Then mebby you can find out how he's getting along?" queried The +Spider, in his high-pitched voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No objection to that," said the young doctor, reaching for the desk +'phone. "Two-eighteen, please. Two-eighteen? How is your patient +to-night? That so? H-m-m! Oh, this is Miss Gray talking? H-m-m! +Thanks." And he hung up the receiver. +</P> + +<P> +"The patient is doing very well—exceptionally well. Would you care to +leave any message?" +</P> + +<P> +"You might tell Doc Andover to leave word that when I call, I get to +see the folks I come to see—and I reckon he'll set you straight." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I didn't—er—know you were a friend of Dr. Andover's. What is +the name, please?" +</P> + +<P> +"'T wouldn't interest you none, little man. Thanks for the +information." And The Spider hobbled out and clumped stiffly down the +wide stone stairway. +</P> + +<P> +The young doctor adjusted his glasses and stared into vacancy. "H-m-m! +And he had the nerve to call <I>me</I> 'little man.' Now I should call him +a decidedly suspicious character. Looks something like an overgrown +spider. Birds of a feather," he added sententiously, with an air of +conscious rectitude, and a disregard for the propriety of the implied +metaphor. It is not quite certain whether he had Andover or Pete in +mind. But it is most probable that had he allowed The Spider to see +Pete that evening and talk with him, The Spider would have left El Paso +the next day, as he had planned, instead of waiting until the following +evening, against his own judgment and in direct opposition to that +peculiar mental reaction called "a hunch" by those not familiar with +the niceties of the English language, and called nothing really more +expressive by those who are. +</P> + +<P> +So far as The Spider knew, he had not been recognized by any one. Yet +with that peculiar intuition of the gunman and killer he knew that he +was marked. He wondered which of his old enemies had found him +out—and when and how that enemy would strike. +</P> + +<P> +That night he wrote a short letter to Pete, stating that he was in town +and would call to see him the following evening, adding that if he +failed to call Pete was to go to the Stockmen's Security and ask for +the president when he was able to be about. He mailed the letter +himself, walking several blocks to find a box. On his way back a man +passed him who peered at him curiously. The Spider's hand had crept +toward his upper vest-pocket as the other approached. After he passed, +The Spider drew out a fresh cigar and lighted it from the one he was +smoking. And he tossed the butt away and turned and glanced back. "I +wonder what White-Eye is doing in El Paso?" he asked himself. "He knew +me all right." The Spider shrugged his shoulders. His hunch had +proved itself. There was still time to leave town, but the fact that +White-Eye had recognized him and had not spoken was an insidious +challenge, the kind of a challenge which a killer never lets pass. For +the killer, strangely enough, is drawn to his kind through the instinct +of self-preservation, a psychological paradox to the layman, who does +not understand that peculiar pride of the gunman which leads him to +remove a menace rather than to avoid it. Curiosity as to a rival's +ability, his personal appearance, his quality of nerve, the sound of +his voice, has drawn many noted killers together—each anxious to prove +conclusively that he was the better man. And this curiosity, driven by +the high nervous tension of the man who must ever be on the alert, is +insatiable, and is assuaged only by insanity or his own death. The +removal of a rival does not satisfy this hunger to kill, but rather +creates a greater hunger, until, without the least provocation, the +killer will shoot down a man merely to satisfy temporarily this inhuman +and terrible craving. The killer veritably feeds upon death, until +that universal abhorrence of the abnormal, triumphant in the end, +adjusts the quivering balance—and Boot Hill boasts one more wooden +cross. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider, limping up the stairway to his room, knew that he would not +leave El Paso, knew that he could not leave the town until satisfied as +to what White-Eye's silence meant. And not only that, but he would +find out. He lighted the oil-lamp on the dresser and gazed at himself +in the glass. Then he took off his coat, shaved, washed, and put on a +clean shirt and collar. He took some gold and loose silver from his +money-belt, put on his hat and coat, and hobbled downstairs. He +thought he knew where he could get word of White-Eye's whereabouts, +stopped at a cigar-stand and telephoned for his cab—and his regular +driver. In a few minutes the cab was at the corner. He mentioned a +street number to the driver, who nodded knowingly. Pony Baxter's +place—where the game ran big. No place for a tin-horn. Only the real +ones played at Pony's. So this old-timer who paid so well was going to +take a whirl at the game? The cabby thought he saw a big tip coming. +Being somewhat of a sportsman in his way, and grateful for what The +Spider had already done for him, he drew up within a block of his +destination and, stepping down, told The Spider that Pony's place was +being watched—and had been for more than a week: that the bulls were +out for some strangers who were wanted bad. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider showed no sign of surprise. "Suppose I was one of 'em, eh?" +he queried. +</P> + +<P> +"That's none of my business, Captain. I ain't workin' for the force; +I'm workin' for myself." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I'll walk down to Pony's place. After I go up, you can +drive down there and wait. I may be five minutes—or a couple of +hours. Here's something to make you forget who you're waiting for if +anybody should ask you." +</P> + +<P> +The cabby tucked the money in his pocket and climbed back to his seat. +"Don't know if somebody was to ask me," he said to himself, as he +watched The Spider hobble down the next block. "Lemme see," he +continued as he drove slowly along. "Some guy comes up and asks me for +a match and starts talkin' friendly, and mebby asks me to have a drink, +and I get friendly and tell him about that young sport from the East +that's been seein' the town and how somebody over to his hotel must 'a' +told him about the game at Pony's—and how he's upstairs, gettin' his +hair cut—short. Oh, I guess I ain't been in this business eight years +for nothin'." +</P> + +<P> +But the inquisitive stranger did not appear and the cabby's invention +was wasted. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider entered the first door to the left of the long hallway. The +room was fitted up as an office, with huge leather-upholstered chairs, +a mahogany center table, and a mahogany desk. In one corner stood a +large safe. On the safe-door was lettered "A. L. Baxter & Co." +</P> + +<P> +A man with a young, smooth face and silver-white hair was sitting at +the desk. He turned and nodded pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to see Pony," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"You're talking to him," said the other. "What can I do for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You can tell Pony that I want to see him, here," said The Spider. +"And don't worry, he knows me." +</P> + +<P> +"The name, please." +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind that. Just take a good look at me—and tell him. He'll +come." +</P> + +<P> +The other rose and, stepping to the inner door, beckoned to some one in +the room beyond. The Spider seated himself, lighted a cigar, and +leaned back as though thoroughly at home. Presently a big man came in +briskly: a full-bodied, smooth-cheeked man who looked like the +prosperous manager of some legitimate business enterprise, save for the +large diamond horseshoe scintillating in his gray silk tie. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, hello, Jim!" he cried, evidently surprised. He told his partner +casually that he could go on inside and look after things for a few +minutes. When the other had gone he turned to The Spider. "What can I +do for you, Jim?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me where I can find White-Eye." +</P> + +<P> +"White-Eye? He hasn't been in here for three or four years. I didn't +know he was in town." +</P> + +<P> +"That might go with the bulls, Pony. I know White-Eye doesn't hang out +reg'lar here—ain't his kind of a joint. But you can tell me where he +does hang out. And I want to know." +</P> + +<P> +"You looking for him, Jim?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. But I've got a hunch he's looking for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Just how bad do you think he wants to see you?" queried Baxter, +tilting back his swing-chair and glancing sideways at The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"About as bad as I want to see him," said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't been in town for quite a while, Jim." +</P> + +<P> +"No. Fifteen years, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't change much." +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking the same of you; always playing safe. You ought to +know better than to pull a bluff like that on me. But if that is your +game, I call. I want White-Eye." +</P> + +<P> +Pony Baxter had plenty of nerve. But he knew The Spider. "I haven't +seen White-eye for over three years," he said, turning to his desk. He +tore a memorandum slip from a pad and wrote something on it and handed +it to The Spider. It was simply a number on Aliso Street. The Spider +glanced at it and tore the slip in two. +</P> + +<P> +"He's stayin' with friends?" queried The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And I think you know most of them." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks for the tip, Pony." +</P> + +<P> +"You going down there alone, Jim?" +</P> + +<P> +"I might." +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't," said Baxter. +</P> + +<P> +"I know dam' well <I>you</I> wouldn't," laughed The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had The Spider stepped into the cab when four men slouched +from a dark stairway entrance a few doors down the street and watched +the cab turn a distant corner. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you missed a good chance," said one of the men, as they moved +slowly toward the entrance to Pony Baxter's. +</P> + +<P> +"How about you? If you ain't forgetting it was the first one of us +that seen him was to get him." +</P> + +<P> +"And White-Eye, here, seen him first, when he crawled out of that rig. +If we'd 'a' gone up, instead of standin' here lettin' our feet git +cold—" +</P> + +<P> +"He must 'a' had his roll with him," said Pino, one of White-Eye's +companions and incidentally a member of that inglorious legion, "The +Men Who Can't Come Back." +</P> + +<P> +"'T ain't his roll I want," said White-Eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Too dam' bad about you not wantin' his roll. Any time—" +</P> + +<P> +"Any time you git The Spider's roll, you got to git him," asserted +another member of this nocturnal quartette, a man whose right arm and +shoulder sagged queerly. +</P> + +<P> +"The Spider ain't no <I>kid</I>, neither,"—and White-Eye paused at the +dimly lighted stairway entrance. +</P> + +<P> +The man with the deformed shoulder cursed White-Eye. The others +laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's go git a drink—and then we'll have a talk with Pony. Come on, +Steve." +</P> + +<P> +They turned and drifted on up the street. Presently they were back at +the stairway entrance. "Pony won't stand for no rough stuff," advised +White-Eye as they turned and climbed the stair. "I'll do the talkin'." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon he'll stand for anything we hand him," said Pino. "Fancy +clothes don't cut any figure with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody that ever got a good look at you would say so," asserted +White-Eye. He paused at the head of the stairs. "I aim to find out +what The Spider wanted up here." +</P> + +<P> +"Go to it!"—and Pino grinned. +</P> + +<P> +As they entered the "office," Baxter was talking with his partner, with +whom he exchanged a significant glance as he realized who his visitors +were. The partner excused himself and stepped into the room beyond. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, boys, what can I do for you?" Baxter's manner was suavely +affable. +</P> + +<P> +"We're lookin' for a friend," declared White-Eye. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think he's here." And Baxter smiled his professional smile. +</P> + +<P> +"But he's been here," asserted White-Eye. "We ain't here to make a +noise. We jest want to know what The Spider was doin' up here a spell +ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Jim? Why, he dropped in to shake hands. I hadn't seen him for +several years. Didn't know he was in town." +</P> + +<P> +"Feed that soft stuff to the yearlins'," snarled White-Eye. "The +Spider ain't chousin' around El Paso for his health, or yours." +</P> + +<P> +Baxter was about to say something when Pino stooped and picked up the +pieces of paper which The Spider had torn in two just before he left. +Pino had no special motive in picking up those torn bits of paper. He +simply saw them, picked them up, and rolled them nervously in his +fingers. White-Eye, watching Baxter, saw him blink and in turn watch +Pino's fingers as he twisted and untwisted the bits of paper. +</P> + +<P> +"He can't keep his hands still," said White-Eye, shrugging his shoulder +toward Pino. "Ever meet Pino. No? Well, he's a artist—when it comes +to drawin'—" +</P> + +<P> +Pino dropped the bits of paper, rose, and shook hands indifferently +with Baxter. As Pino sat down again, Baxter stooped and casually +picked up the torn pad-leaf on which he had written White-Eye's +address. He turned to his desk and taking a box of cigars from a +drawer passed it around. White-Eye's pin-point pupils glittered. Pony +Baxter seemed mighty anxious to get those two bits of paper out of +sight. White-Eye had seen him drop them in the drawer as he opened it. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you send The Spider?" asked White-Eye quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Send him! Didn't send him anywhere. He said he was going back to his +hotel." +</P> + +<P> +White-Eye blinked. He knew that The Spider was not stopping at a +hotel. For some reason Baxter had lied. +</P> + +<P> +"How's the game to-night?" queried White-Eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Quiet," replied Baxter. +</P> + +<P> +"Any strangers inside?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—not the kind of strangers you mean." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I reckon we'll take a look in. Don't mind takin' a whirl at the +wheel myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Come right in," said Baxter, as though relieved, and he opened the +door and stood aside to let them pass. +</P> + +<P> +A quiet game of poker was running at a table near the door. Farther +down the room, which was spacious and brilliantly lighted, a group were +playing the wheel. At the table beyond the usual faro game was in +progress. All told there were some fifteen men in the room, not +counting the dealers and lookout. One or two men glanced up as +White-Eye and his companions entered and sauntered from table to table. +To the regular habitues of the place, White-Eye and his companions were +simply "rough-necks" to whom Baxter was showing "the joint." +</P> + +<P> +Presently Baxter excused himself and, telling his visitors to make +themselves at home, strode back to his office. White-Eye and Pino +watched the wheel, while the man with the deformed shoulder and his +companion stood watching the faro game. The room was quiet save for +the soft click of the chips, the whirring of the ball, an occasional +oath, and the monotonous voice of the faro-dealer. +</P> + +<P> +Pino nudged White-Eye and indicated the little pile of gold that was +stacked before a player at the faro table. White-Eye shook his head +and stepped casually back. Pino sauntered over to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Chanct for a clean-up?" whispered Pino. +</P> + +<P> +"No show. The lookout's a gun. I know him. So is that guy at the +wheel. Pony's pardner packs a gat; and that guy standin' over by the +wall, smoking is drawin' down reg'lar pay for jest standin' there, +every night. 'Sides, they ain't enough stuff in sight to take a chanct +for. We ain't organized for this kind of a deal." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what's the use of hangin' around?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause they was somethin' on that piece of paper you picked up out +there that Pony didn't want us to see—and I aim to find out what it +was." +</P> + +<P> +"The number of some dame, most like," said Pino, grinning. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you hear him say The Spider went back to his <I>hotel</I>? Well, Pony +is double-crossin' somebody. Jest stick around and keep your eye on +the door." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile The Spider had arrived at the address given him—an empty +basement store in the south end of town. The place was dark and +evidently abandoned. Back of the store was a room in which were two +cheap iron beds, a washstand, and two chairs. The rear door of this +room opened on an alley, and it was through this door that White-Eye +and his companions entered and left the premises, which they had rented +at a low rate from the lessee of the place who now ran a grocery on the +street level, near the corner. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider had no means of knowing of the back room and thought that +Baxter had sent him to a chance number to get rid of him; or that the +latter would possibly suggest that White-Eye must have left the +neighborhood. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there a back stairs to Pony's place?" queried The Spider as he +stood by the cab. +</P> + +<P> +"No. But there's a fire-escape in the alley back of the block. The +last time they raided Pony the bulls got six gents comin' down the iron +ladder." +</P> + +<P> +"Just drive round that way." The Spider stepped into the cab. +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't a Government man, are you?" queried cabby. +</P> + +<P> +"No. I play a lone hand," said The Spider. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap37"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"CLOSE THE CASES" +</H3> + +<P> +Pony Baxter's place, located near the middle of what is commonly termed +a "business block," embraced the space once occupied by a number of +small offices, one of which he had retained as a sort of +reception-room, near the head of the stairway. That he might have a +spacious room for his business, the partitions of the former offices +had been removed, with the exception of those enclosing his office, and +a room at the extreme end of the building which opened on the hall, +near the end window, just over the fire-escape. This room was +expensively fitted up as a lavatory, with marble panels, basins, and +tiling. A uniformed negro with the inevitable whisk-broom was always +in attendance, quite as keen at "getting the dust" as was his employer. +The door to this room was fitted with a spring lock which allowed it to +be opened only from the inside, except with a pass-key. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider's cab, swinging into the alley, stopped directly beneath the +lower extension of the fire-escape. "Pull over closer to the wall," he +told the driver. Then he climbed to the driver's seat and stepped onto +the iron ladder. "You can drive round to the front and wait," he told +the cabby, who lost no time in getting out of the alley. Like most +nocturnal cabmen, he was quite willing to drive anywhere; but he +sincerely preferred to do his waiting for his fare in a more open +street. +</P> + +<P> +The window at the rear end of the hall was fastened. The Spider broke +the glass just below the catch with the butt of his gun. He raised the +window and slid into the hallway. +</P> + +<P> +"Who dat?" came from the lavatory. +</P> + +<P> +"It's me, Sam," said The Spider thickly, imitating the voice of a man +overcome by drink. "I cut my hand on the window. Want to get in—wash +up—blood—" +</P> + +<P> +"I ask Misto Baxtuh, suh." +</P> + +<P> +"Lemme in—quick—or you lose a five-spot. Bleeding bad—want to wash +up—" +</P> + +<P> +The spring lock clicked softly. Before Sam knew what had happened, The +Spider was in the lavatory and between him and the door to the main +room. "Get going," said The Spider. The amazed negro backed away from +that eloquent menace in The Spider's right hand. +"M-m-m-misto—misto—Captain— Ah ain't done nuffin!" +</P> + +<P> +"Git!"—and The Spider indicated the rear window. +</P> + +<P> +The negro backed into the hall, saw the open window, and vanished +through it without parley. He dropped from the last step of the +fire-escape and picking himself up started to run, with no definite +destination in mind save space. +</P> + +<P> +As Baxter had said, things were quiet that night. The poker table had +been deserted and the players had left. A few "regulars" still hung +about the faro layout and the wheel. The hired "bouncer" had stepped +into the office to speak to Baxter. It was past twelve. There were no +strangers present save the four roughly dressed men. Baxter was just +telling the bouncer that he knew them, and that he surmised they were +after a certain party, but that that party would not be back there. As +he talked Baxter stepped to the outer door and locked it. It was too +late to expect any worth-while business. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider, who was in reality looking for Baxter, whom he suspected of +trickery, opened the lavatory door far enough to see into the main +room. In a flash he had placed three of the four men who "wanted" him. +</P> + +<P> +White-Eye and Longtree were standing near a player at the faro table, +evidently interested for the moment in the play. Near White-Eye, Pino +was rolling a cigarette. Beyond them, at the next table, stood a man +with a deformed shoulder—and The Spider recognized Gary of the +T-Bar-T, watching the few players at the wheel… A film of cigar +smoke eddied round the lamps above the tables. Presently the players +at the faro table rose and left. The dealer put away his cases. The +lookout yawned and took off his green eye-shade. The man with the +deformed shoulder and his companion were moving toward White-Eye when +The Spider slipped through the doorway and sidled toward the middle of +the room. His hat was pushed back. He fumbled at his tie with his +right hand. "White-Eye!" he called. +</P> + +<P> +The faro-dealer and the lookout jerked round—then slowly backed toward +the side of the room. The man at the wheel paused with his hand in the +air. The players, intent upon the game, glanced up curiously. Pino, +who stood near White-Eye and almost in front of him, dropped his +cigarette. The room became as still as the noon desert. Three of the +four men who bore ancient grudge against The Spider, knew that there +would be no parley—that talk would be useless. The fourth, the man +whom they had addressed as Steve, had but recently associated himself +with them, and had no quarrel with The Spider. In that tense moment, +Gary wished himself well out of it. +</P> + +<P> +"Lost your nerve, Pino?" laughed The Spider, in his queer, high voice. +"You dropped your cigarette." +</P> + +<P> +One of the roulette players giggled hysterically. At the sound of that +laugh, White-Eye jerked Pino in front of him. The Spider's gun +appeared as though he had caught it from the air. As it roared, Pino +staggered sideways and fell. White-Eye fired as The Spider, throwing +shot after shot, walked slowly toward him. Suddenly White-Eye coughed +and staggered against the table. With his last shot The Spider dropped +White-Eye, then jerked a second gun from his waistband. Gary, kneeling +behind the faro table, fired over its top. The Spider whirled +half-round, recovered himself, and, sidling toward the table, threw +down on the kneeling man, who sank forward coughing horribly. Within +eight feet of him The Spider's gun roared again. Gary's body jerked +stiff at the shock and then slowly collapsed. The fourth man, +Longtree, with his hands above his head, begged The Spider not to kill +his old pal! The Spider's face, horribly distorted, venomous as a +snake's, colorless and glistening with sweat, twisted queerly as he +spoke: "Kill you, you damned coyote?" And he shot Longtree down as a +man would shoot a trapped wolf. +</P> + +<P> +Framed in the office doorway stood Pony Baxter, a blue automatic in his +hand. The Spider, leaning against the roulette table, laughed. "Gave +me the double-cross, eh, Pony? How do you like the layout?" He swayed +and clutched at the table. "Don't kill me, Pony!" he cried, in ghastly +mimickry of Longtree's voice. "Don't kill an old pal, Pony!" And the +sound of his voice was lost in the blunt roar of a shot that loosened +Baxter's fingers from the automatic. It clattered to the floor. +Baxter braced himself against the door-frame and, turning, staggered to +the desk 'phone. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider nodded to the faro-dealer. "Close your cases," he said, and +he hiccoughed and spat viciously. "Get me downstairs—I'm done." +</P> + +<P> +The dealer, who possessed plenty of nerve himself, was dumb with wonder +that this man, who had deliberately walked into a fight against three +fast guns, was still on his feet. Yet he realized that The Spider had +made his last fight. He was hard hit. "God, what a mess!" said the +dealer as he took The Spider's arm and steadied him to the office. +"You better lay down," he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"Got a cab downstairs. General Hospital." +</P> + +<P> +The driver, who had been taking a nap inside the cab, heard the sound +of shooting, started up, threw back the lap-robe, and stepped to the +sidewalk. He listened, trying to count the shots. Then came silence. +Then another shot. He was aware that his best policy was to leave that +neighborhood quickly. Yet curiosity held him, and finally drew him +toward the dimly lighted stairway. He wondered what had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"Cab?" somebody called from above. The cabby answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Give us a hand here," cried a voice from the top of the stairs. "A +man's been shot—bad." +</P> + +<P> +The cabby clumped up and helped get The Spider to the street. +"Where'll I take him?" he stammered nervously, as he recognized the +shrunken figure. +</P> + +<P> +"He said something about the General Hospital. He's going—fast." +</P> + +<P> +"He used to call there, regular," asserted the cabby. "Anybody else +git hurt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Christ, yes! It's a slaughter-pen up there. Beat it, or he'll cash +in before you can get him to the hospital." +</P> + +<P> +The cabby pulled up at the General Hospital, leapt down, and hastened +round to the garage. He wakened the night ambulance-driver, stayed +until the driver and an interne had carried The Spider into the +hospital, and then drove away before he could be questioned. +</P> + +<P> +The house-doctor saw at once that The Spider could not live, +administered a stimulant, and telephoned to the police station, later +asking the ambulance-driver for the cabman's number, which the other +had failed to notice in the excitement. As he hung up the receiver a +nurse told him that the patient was conscious and wanted to speak to +Dr. Andover. The house-doctor asked The Spider if he wished to make a +statement. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider moved his head in the negative. "I'm done," he whispered, +"but I'd like to see Pete a minute." +</P> + +<P> +"Pete?" +</P> + +<P> +"Room 218," said the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you mean young Annersley. Well, I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"He's my boy," said The Spider, using the last desperate argument—an +appeal difficult to ignore. +</P> + +<P> +"Take him to 218," said the doctor, gesturing toward the stretcher. +</P> + +<P> +The nurse, who went with them, roused Pete out of a quiet sleep and +told him that they were bringing some one to see him. "Your father," +she said, "who has been seriously injured. He asked to see you." +</P> + +<P> +Pete could not at first understand what she meant. "All right," he +said, turning his head and gazing toward the doorway. The nurse +stepped into the hall and nodded to the attendants and the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +They were about to move forward when The Spider gestured feebly to the +doctor. "Get me to my feet." "I won't bother you much after that." +And The Spider, who felt that his strength was going fast, tried to +raise himself on the stretcher. This effort brought the internes to +his side. They lifted him to his feet and shuffled awkwardly through +the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +Swaying between the internes, his shriveled body held upright by a +desperate effort of will, he fought for breath. +</P> + +<P> +Pete raised on his elbow, his dark eyes wide. "Spider!" he exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +The internes felt The Spider's slackened muscles grow tense as he +endeavored to get closer to the cot. They helped him a step forward. +He pulled his arm free and thrust out his hand. Pete's hand closed on +those limp, clammy fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"I come ahead of time, pardner. Come to see how—you was—gettin' +along." The Spider's arm dropped to his side. +</P> + +<P> +"Take him to the other bed there," said the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +The Spider shook his head. "Just a minute." He nodded toward Pete. +"I want you to do something for me. Go see that party—in letter—fix +you up—he's played square with me—same as you done." +</P> + +<P> +"But who was it—" began Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Old bunch. Trailed me—too close. Got 'em—every dam' one. A más +ver. Tengo que marcharme, compadre." And then, "Close the cases," +said The Spider. +</P> + +<P> +The internes helped him to the cot on which Doris had rested as she +watched Pete through those dark hours, refusing to leave him till she +knew the great danger had passed. +</P> + +<P> +Pete lay back staring at the ceiling. He was, stunned by this sudden +calamity. And all at once he realized that it must have been The +Spider who had called to see him several times. Doris had hinted to +Pete that some friend asked after him daily. So The Spider had come to +El Paso to find out if the money had been delivered—risking his life +for the sake of a few thousand dollars! Pete turned and glanced at the +other cot. The doctor was bending over The Spider, who mumbled +incoherently. Presently brisk footsteps sounded in the hallway, and +two men entered the room and stepped to where The Spider lay. They +spoke in low tones to the doctor, who moved back. One of the men—a +heavy-shouldered, red-faced man, whom Pete recognized—asked The Spider +who had shot him, and if he had been in Pony Baxter's place that night. +The Spider's lips moved. The other leaned closer. Dimly The Spider +realized that this was the Law that questioned him. Even at the last +moment his old enemy had come to hunt him out. The Spider's beady +black eyes suddenly brightened. With a last vicious effort he raised +his head and spat in the officer's face. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor stepped quickly forward. The Spider lay staring at the +ceiling, his sightless eyes dulled by the black shadow of eternal night. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap38"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GETTING ACQUAINTED +</H3> + +<P> +It was Pony Baxter who gave the names of the dead gunmen to the police, +confirming the records of White-Eye, Pino, Longtree, and Jim +Ewell—known as The Spider. The identity of the fourth man, he of the +deformed shoulder and shriveled arm, was unknown to Baxter. The police +had no record of him under any alias, and he would have been entered on +their report of findings as "unknown," had not the faro-dealer and the +lookout both asserted that The Spider had called him Gary—in fact had +singled him out unmistakenly, asking him what be had to do with the +quarrel, which evidently concerned but three of the four men whom The +Spider had killed. Pony Baxter, slowly recovering from an all but +fatal gun-shot wound, disclaimed any knowledge of a "frame-up" to get +The Spider, stating that, while aware that the gunmen and The Spider +were enemies, The Spider's sudden appearance was as much of a surprise +to him as it evidently was to the gunmen—and Baxter's serious +condition pretty well substantiated this statement. Baxter's negro was +also questioned—concerning Baxter's story and explaining the +circumstances under which he had admitted The Spider to the back room. +</P> + +<P> +When confronted with the torn slip of paper on which was written the +address of White-Eye, Baxter admitted that he knew of the rendezvous of +the gunmen, but refused to explain why he had their address in his +possession, and he put a quietus on that phase of the situation by +asking the police why they had not raided the place themselves before +the shooting occurred, as they seemed to have known of it for several +months. Eventually Baxter and the police "fixed it up." The gambler +did a thriving business through the notoriety the affair had given him. +Many came to see the rooms where The Spider had made his last venomous +fight, men who had never turned a card in their lives, and who doubted +the rumors current in the sporting world until actually in the room and +listening to the faro-dealer's cold and impassive account of the men +and the battle. And more often than not these curious souls, who came +to scoff, remained to play. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, convalescing rapidly, had asked day after day if he might not be +allowed to sit with the other patients who, warmly blanketed, enjoyed +the sunshine on the wide veranda overlooking the city. One morning +Andover gave his consent, restricting Pete's first visit to thirty +minutes. Pete was only too glad of a respite from the monotony of +back-rest and pillow, bare walls, and the essential but soul-wearying +regularity of professional attention. +</P> + +<P> +Not until Doris had helped him into the wheel-chair did he realize how +weak he was. +</P> + +<P> +Out on the veranda, his weakness, the pallid faces of the other +convalescents, and even Doris herself, were forgotten as he gazed +across the city and beyond to the sunlit spaces softly glowing beneath +a cloudless sky. Sunlight! He had never known how much it meant, +until then. He breathed deep. His dark eyes closed. Life, which he +had hitherto valued only through sheer animal instinct, seemed to mean +so much more than he had ever imagined it could. Yet not in any +definite way, nor through contemplating any definite attainment. It +was simply good to be alive—to feel the pleasant, natural warmth of +the sun—to breathe the clear, keen air. And all his curiosity as to +what the world might look like—for to one who has come out of the +eternal shadows the world is ever strange—was drowned in the supreme +indifference of absolute ease and rest. It seemed to him as though he +were floating midway between the earth and the sun, not in a weird +dream wherein the subconscious mind says, "This is not real; I know +that I dream"; but actual, in that Pete could feel nothing above nor +beneath him. Being of a very practical turn of mind he straightway +opened his eyes and was at once conscious of the arm of the wheel-chair +beneath his hand and the blanket across his knees. +</P> + +<P> +He was not aware that some of the patients were gazing at him +curiously—that gossip had passed his name from room to room and that +the papers had that morning printed a sort of revised sequel to the +original story of "The Spider Mystery"—as they chose to call it. +</P> + +<P> +Doris glanced at her watch. "We'll have to go in," she said, rising +and adjusting Pete's pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, shucks! We jest come out!" +</P> + +<P> +"You've been asleep," said Doris. +</P> + +<P> +Pete shook his head. "Nope. But I sure did git one good rest. Doc +Andover calls this a vacation, eh? Well, then I guess I got to go back +to work—and it sure is work, holdin' down that bed in there—and +nothin' to do but sleep and eat and—but it ain't so bad when you're +there. Now that there cow-bunny with the front teeth—" +</P> + +<P> +"S-sh!" Doris flushed, and Pete glanced around, realizing that they +were not alone. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I reckon we got to go back to the corral!" Pete sighed heavily. +</P> + +<P> +Back in bed he watched Doris as she made a notation on the chart of his +"case." He frowned irritably when she took his temperature. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor will want to know how you stood your first outing," she +said, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +Pete wriggled the little glass thermometer round in his mouth until it +stuck up at an assertive angle, as some men hold a cigar, and glanced +mischievously at his nurse. "Why don't you light it?" he mumbled. +</P> + +<P> +Doris tried not to laugh as she took the thermometer, glanced at it, +and charted a slight rise in the patient's temperature. +</P> + +<P> +"Puttin' it in that glass of water to cool it off?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +She smiled as she carefully charted the temperature line. +</P> + +<P> +"Kin I look at it?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +She gave the chart to him and he studied it frowningly. "What's this +here that looks like a range of mountains ?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Your temperature." And she explained the meaning of the wavering line. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee! Back here I sure was climbin' the high hills! That's a +interestin' tally-sheet." +</P> + +<P> +Pete saw a peculiar expression in her gray eyes. It was as though she +were searching for something beneath the surface of his superficial +humor; for she knew that there was something that he wanted to +say—something entirely alien to these chance pleasantries. She all +but anticipated his question. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you mind tellin' me somethin'?" he queried abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"No. If there is anything that I can tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"I was wonderin' who was payin' for this here private room—and reg'lar +nurse. I been sizin' up things—and folks like me don't get such fancy +trimmin's without payin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Why—it was your—your father." +</P> + +<P> +Pete sat up quickly. "My father! I ain't got no father. I—I reckon +somebody got things twisted." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, the papers"—and Doris bit her lip—"I mean Miss Howard, the +nurse who was here that night…" +</P> + +<P> +"When The Spider cashed in?" +</P> + +<P> +Doris nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"The Spider wasn't my father. But I guess mebby that nurse thought he +was, and got things mixed." +</P> + +<P> +"The house-doctor would not have had him brought up here if he had +thought he was any one else." +</P> + +<P> +"So The Spider said he was my father—so he could git to see me!" Pete +seemed to be talking to himself. "Was he the friend you was tellin' me +called regular?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I don't know, but I think he paid for your room and the +operation." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't they make those operations on folks, anyhow, if they ain't got +money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but in your case it was a very difficult and dangerous operation. +I saw that Dr. Andover hardly wanted to take the risk." +</P> + +<P> +"So The Spider pays for everything!" Pete shook his head. "I don't +just sabe." +</P> + +<P> +"I saw him watching you once—when you were asleep," said Doris. "He +seemed terribly anxious. I was afraid of him—and I felt sorry for +him—" +</P> + +<P> +Pete lay back and stared at the opposite wall. "He sure was game!" he +murmured. "And he was my friend." +</P> + +<P> +Pete turned his head quickly as Doris stepped toward the door. "Could +you git me some of them papers—about The Spider?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she answered hesitatingly, as she left the room. +</P> + +<P> +Pete closed his eyes. He could see The Spider standing beside his bed +supported by two internes, dying on his feet, fighting for breath as he +told Pete to "see that party—in the letter"—and "that some one had +trailed him too close." And "close the cases," The Spider had said. +The game was ended. +</P> + +<P> +When Doris came in again Pete was asleep. She laid a folded newspaper +by his pillow, gazed at him for a moment, and stepped softly from the +room. +</P> + +<P> +At noon she brought his luncheon. When she came back for the tray she +noticed that he had not eaten, nor would he talk while she was there. +But that evening he seemed more like himself. After she had taken his +temperature he jokingly asked her if he bit that there little glass +dingus in two what would happen?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I'd have to buy a new one," she replied, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's face expressed surprise. "Say!" he queried, sitting up, "did +The Spider pay you for bein' my private nurse, too?" +</P> + +<P> +"He must have made some arrangement with Dr. Andover. He put me in +charge of your case." +</P> + +<P> +"But don't you git anything extra for—for smilin' at +folks—and—coaxin' 'em to eat—and wastin' your time botherin' around +'em most all day?" +</P> + +<P> +"The hospital gets the extra money. I get my usual salary." +</P> + +<P> +"You ain't mad at me, be you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no, why should I be?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dunno. I reckon I talk kind of rough—and that mebby I said +somethin'—but—would you mind if I was to tell you somethin'. I been +thinkin' about it ever since you brung that paper. It's somethin' +mighty important—and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Your dinner is getting cold," said Doris. +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks! I jest got to tell somebody! Did you read what was in that +paper?" +</P> + +<P> +Doris nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"About that fella called Steve Gary that The Spider bumped off in that +gamblin'-joint?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if that's right—and the papers ain't got things twisted, like +when they said The Spider was my father—why, if it <I>was</I> Steve Gary—I +kin go back to the Concho and kind o' start over ag'in." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +"'Course you don't! You see, me and Gary mixed onct—and—" +</P> + +<P> +Doris' gray eyes grew big as Pete spoke rapidly of his early life, of +the horse-trader, of Annersley and Bailey and Montoya, and young Andy +White—characters who passed swiftly before her vision as she followed +Pete's fortunes up to the moment when he was brought into the hospital. +And presently she understood that he was trying to tell her that if the +newspaper report was authentic he was a free man. His eagerness to +vindicate himself was only too apparent. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he ceased talking. The animation died from his dark eyes. +"Mebby it wa'n't the same Steve Gary," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"If it had been, you mean that you could go back to your friends—and +there would be no trouble—?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded. "But I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"Is there any way of finding out—before you leave here?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I might write a letter and ask Jim Bailey, or Andy. They would know." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll get you a pen and paper." +</P> + +<P> +Pete flushed. "Would you mind writin' it for me? I ain't no reg'lar, +professional writer. Pop Annersley learned me some—but I reckon Jim +could read your writin' better." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I'll write the letter, if you want me to. If you'll just +tell me what you wish to say I'll take it down on this pad and copy it +in my room." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you write it here? Mebby we might want to change somethin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if you'll eat your dinner—" And Doris went for pen and paper. +When she returned she found that Pete had stacked the dishes in a +perilous pyramid on the floor, that the bed-tray might serve as a table +on which to write. +</P> + +<P> +He watched her curiously as she unscrewed the cap of her fountain pen +and dated the letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Jim Bailey, Concho—that's over in Arizona," he said, then he +hesitated. "I reckon I got to tell you the whole thing first and mebby +you kin put it down after I git through." Doris saw him eying the pen +intently. "You didn't fetch the ink," he said suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +Doris laughed as she explained the fountain pen to him. Then she +listened while he told her what to say. +</P> + +<P> +The letter written, Doris went to her room. Pete lay thinking of her +pleasant gray eyes and the way that she smiled understandingly and +nodded—"When most folks," he soliloquized, "would say something or ask +you what you was drivin' at." +</P> + +<P> +To him she was an altogether wonderful person, so quietly cheerful, +natural, and unobtrusively competent… Then, through some queer +trick of memory, Boca's face was visioned to him and his thoughts were +of the desert, of men and horses and a far sky-line. "I got to get out +of here," he told himself sleepily. And he wondered if he would ever +see Doris Gray again after he left the hospital. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap39"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIX +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A PUZZLE GAME +</H3> + +<P> +Dr. Andover, brisk and professionally cheerful, was +telling Pete that so far as he was concerned he could +not do anything more for him, except to advise him to +be careful about lifting or straining—to take it easy +for at least a month—and to do no hard riding until +the incision was thoroughly healed. "You'll know +when you are really fit," he said, smiling, "because +your back will tell you better than I can. You're +a mighty fortunate young man!" +</P> + +<P> +"You sure fixed me up fine, Doc. You was sayin' I +could leave here next week?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, if you keep on improving—and I can't see +why you should not. And I don't have to tell you to +thank Miss Gray for what she has done for you. If +it hadn't been for her, my boy, I doubt that you +would be here!" +</P> + +<P> +"She sure is one jim-dandy nurse." +</P> + +<P> +"She is more than that, young man." Andover +cleared his throat. "There's one little matter that I +thought best not to mention until you were—pretty +well out of the woods. I suppose you know that the +authorities will want to—er—talk with you about +that shooting scrape—that chap that was found +somewhere out in the desert. The chief of detectives +asked me the other day when you would be around again." +</P> + +<P> +"So, when I git out of here they're goin' to arrest me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, frankly, you are under arrest now. I +thought it best that you should know it now. In a +general way I gathered that the police suspect you of +having had a hand in the killing of that man who was +found near Sanborn." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, they can wait till hell freezes afore I'll tell +'em," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"And, meanwhile, you'll also have to—er—wait, +I imagine. Have you any friends who might—er—use +their influence? I think you might get out on bail. +I can't say." +</P> + +<P> +"Nope." +</P> + +<P> +"Then the best thing that you can do is to tell a +straight story and hope that the authorities will +believe you. Well, I've got to go. By the way, how are +you fixed financially? Just let me know if you want +anything?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, Doc. From what you say I reckon the +county will be payin' my board." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not. But you'll need some clothing and +underwear—the things you had on are—" +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't hesitate to ask me,"—and Andover rose. +"Your friend—er—Ewell—arranged for any little +contingency that might arise." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I kin go most any time?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll see how you are feeling next week. +Meanwhile keep out in the sun—but wrap up well. +Good-bye!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete realized that to make a fresh start in life he +would have to begin at the bottom. +</P> + +<P> +He had ever been inclined to look forward rather +than backward—to put each day's happenings +behind him as mere incidents in his general progress—and +he began to realize that these happenings had +accumulated to a bulk that could not be ignored, if the +fresh start that he contemplated were to be made +successfully. He recalled how he had felt when he +had squared himself with Roth for that six-gun. But +the surreptitious taking of the six-gun had been +rather a mistake than a deliberate intent to steal. +And Pete tried to justify himself with the thought +that all his subsequent trouble had been the result of +mistakes due to conditions thrust upon him by a fate +which had slowly driven him to his present untenable +position—that of a fugitive from the law, without +money and without friends. He came to the bitter +conclusion that his whole life had been a mistake—possibly +not through his own initiative, but a mistake +nevertheless. He knew that his only course was to +retrace and untangle the snarl of events in which his +feet were snared. Accustomed to rely upon his own +efforts—he had always been able to make his +living—he suddenly realized the potency of money; that +money could alleviate suffering, influence authority, +command freedom—at least temporary freedom—and +even in some instances save life itself. +</P> + +<P> +Yet it was characteristic of Pete that he did not +regret anything that he had done, in a moral sense. +He had made mistakes—and he would have to pay +for them—but only once. He would not make these +mistakes again. A man was a fool who deliberately +rode his horse into the same box cañon twice. +</P> + +<P> +Pete wondered if his letter to Jim Bailey had been +received and what Bailey's answer would be. The +letter must have reached Bailey by this time. And +then Pete thought of The Spider's note, advising him +to call at the Stockmen's Security; and of The +Spider's peculiar insistence that he do so—that +Hodges would "use him square." +</P> + +<P> +Pete wondered what it all signified. He knew that +The Spider had money deposited with the +Stockmen's Security. The request had something to do +with money, without doubt. Perhaps The Spider +had wished him to attend to some matter of trust—for +Pete was aware that The Spider had trusted him, +and had said so, almost with his last breath. But +Pete hesitated to become entangled further in The +Spider's affairs. He did not intend to make a second +mistake of that kind. +</P> + +<P> +Monday of the following week Pete was out on the +veranda—listening to little Ruth, a blue-eyed baby +patient who as gravely explained the mysteries of a +wonderful puzzle game of pasteboard cows and +horses and a farmyard "most all cut to pieces," +as Ruth said, when Doris stepped from the hall +doorway and, glancing about, finally discovered Pete +in the far corner of the veranda—deeply absorbed in +searching for the hind leg of a noble horse to which +little Ruth had insisted upon attaching the sedate +and ignoble hind quarters of a maternal cow. So +intent were they upon their game that neither of them +saw Doris as she moved toward them, nodding +brightly to many convalescents seated about the +veranda. +</P> + +<P> +"Whoa!" said Pete, as Ruth disarranged the noble +steed in her eagerness to fit the bit of pasteboard +Pete had handed to her. "Now, I reckon he'll stand +till we find that barn-door and the water-trough. Do +you reckon he wants a drink?" +</P> + +<P> +"He looks very firsty," said Ruth. +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby he's hungry, too,"—and Pete found the +segment of a mechanically correct haystack. +</P> + +<P> +"No!" cried Ruth positively, taking the bit of +haystack from Pete; "wet's put some hay in his house." +</P> + +<P> +"Then that there cow'll git it—and she's plumb +fed up already." +</P> + +<P> +"Den I give 'at 'ittle cow his breakfuss,"—and +the solicitous Ruth placed the section of haystack +within easy reach of a wide-eyed and slightly +disjointed calf—evidently the offspring of the well-fed +cow, judging from the paint-markings of each. +</P> + +<P> +But suddenly little Ruth's face lost its sunshine. +Her mouth quivered. Pete glanced up at her, his +dark eyes questioning. +</P> + +<P> +"There's lots more hay," he stammered, "for all of 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"It hurted me," sobbed Ruth. +</P> + +<P> +"Your foot?" Pete glanced down at the child's +bandaged foot, and then looked quickly away. +</P> + +<P> +"Ess. It hurted me—and oo didn't hit it." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet it was that doggone ole cow! Let's git +her out of this here corral and turn her loose!" Pete +shuffled the cow into a disjointed heap. "Now +she's turned loose—and she won't come back." +</P> + +<P> +Ruth ceased sobbing and turned to gaze at Doris, +who patted her head and smiled. "We was—stockin' +up our ranch," Pete explained almost +apologetically. "Ruth and me is pardners." +</P> + +<P> +Doris gazed at Pete, her gray eyes warm with a +peculiar light. "It's awfully nice of you to amuse Ruth." +</P> + +<P> +"Amuse her! My Gosh! Miss Gray, she's doin' +the amusin'! When we're visitin' like this, I plumb +forgit—everything." +</P> + +<P> +"Here's a letter for you," said Doris. "I thought +that perhaps you might want to have it as soon as +possible." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, Miss Gray. I reckon it's from Jim +Bailey. I—" Pete tore off the end of the envelope +with trembling fingers. Little Ruth watched him +curiously. Doris had turned away and was looking +out across the city. A tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. +"Make Pete play wif me," said Ruth. "My cow's all broke." +</P> + +<P> +Pete glanced up, slowly slid the unread letter back +into the envelope and tucked it into his shirt. "You +bet we'll find that cow if we have to comb every +draw on the ranch! Hello, pardner! Here's her ole +head. She was sure enough investigatin' that there +haystack." +</P> + +<P> +Doris turned away. There was a tense throbbing +in her throat as she moved back to the doorway. +Despite herself she glanced back for an instant. The +dark head and the golden head were together over +the wonderful puzzle picture. Just why Pete should +look up then could hardly be explained by either +himself or Doris. He waved his hand boyishly. Doris +turned and walked rapidly down the hallway. Her +emotion irritated her. Why should she feel so +absolutely silly and sentimental because a patient, who +really meant nothing to her aside from her profession, +should choose to play puzzle picture with a +crippled child, that he might forget for a while his +very identity and those terrible happenings? Had +he not said so? And yet he had put aside the letter +that might mean much to him, that he might make +Little Ruth forget her pain in searching for a +dismembered pasteboard cow. +</P> + +<P> +Doris glanced in as she passed Pete's room. Two +men were standing there, expressing in their impatient +attitudes that they had expected to find some one +in the room. She knew who they were—men from +the police station—for she had seen them before. +</P> + +<P> +"You were looking for Mr. Annersley?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, mam. We got a little business—" +</P> + +<P> +"He's out on the veranda, playing puzzle picture +with a little girl patient." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we got a puzzle picture for him—" began +one of the men, but Doris, her eyes flashing, interrupted him. +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Andover left word that he does not want +Mr. Annersley to see visitors without his permission." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon we can see him, miss. I had a talk with +Doc Andover." +</P> + +<P> +"Then let me call Mr. Annersley, please. There +are so many—patients out there." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, miss." +</P> + +<P> +Doris took Pete's place as she told him. Little +Ruth entered a demurrer, although she liked Doris. +"Pete knew all about forces and cows. He must +come wight back . . ." +</P> + +<P> +"What a beautiful bossy!" said Doris as Ruth +rearranged the slightly disjointed cow. +</P> + +<P> +"Dat a <I>cow</I>," said Ruth positively. "Pete says +dat a <I>cow</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"And what a wonderful pony!" +</P> + +<P> +"Dat a <I>force</I>, Miss Dowis. Pete say dat a force." +</P> + +<P> +It was evident to Doris that Pete was an authority, +not without honor in his own country, and an authority +not to be questioned, for Ruth gravely informed +Doris that Pete could "wide" and "wope" and knew +everything about "forces" and "cows." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Pete, seated on the edge of his cot, was +telling the plain-clothes men that he was willing to +go with them whenever they were ready, stipulating, +however, that he wanted to visit the Stockmen's +Security and Savings Bank first, and as soon as +possible. Incidentally he stubbornly refused to +admit that he had anything to do with the killing of +Brent, whom the sheriff of Sanborn had finally +identified as the aforetime foreman of the Olla. +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing personal about this, young +fella," said one of the men as Pete's dark eyes +blinked somberly. "It's our business, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"And it's a dam' crawlin' business," asserted +Pete. "You couldn't even let The Spider cross over peaceful." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon he earned all he got," said one of the men. +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby. But it took three fast guns to git him—and +he put <I>them</I> out of business first. I'd 'a' liked +to seen some of you rubber-heeled heifers tryin' to +put the irons on him." +</P> + +<P> +"That kind of talk won't do you no good when +you're on the stand, young fella. It ain't likely that +Sam Brent was your first job. Your record reads +pretty strong for a kid." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' Gary? Well, about Gary"—Pete +fumbled in his shirt. "I got a letter here" . . . He +studied the closely written sheet for a few seconds, +then his face cleared. "Jest run your eye over that. +It's from Jim Bailey, who used to be my fo'man on +the Concho." +</P> + +<P> +The officers read the letter, one gazing over the +other's shoulder, "Who's this Jim Bailey, anyhow?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's a white man—fo'man of the Concho, and +my boss, onct." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you're lucky if what he says is so. But +that don't square you with the other deal." +</P> + +<P> +"There's only one man that could do that," said +Pete. "And I reckon he ain't ridin' where you could +git him." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, Annersley. But even if you +didn't get Brent, you were on that job. You were +running with a tough bunch." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's got my gun?" queried Pete abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's over to the station with the rest of your stuff." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it wa'n't a forty-five that put Brent out of +business. My gun is." +</P> + +<P> +"You can tell that to the sheriff of Sanborn +County. And you'll have a hard time proving that +you never packed any other gun." +</P> + +<P> +"You say it's the sheriff of Sanborn County +that'll be wantin' to know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. We're holding you for him." +</P> + +<P> +"That's different. I reckon I kin talk to <I>him</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you'll get a chance. He's in town—-waiting +to take you over to Sanborn." +</P> + +<P> +"I sure would like to have a talk with him," said +Pete. "Would you mind tellin' him that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—no. We'll tell him." +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause I aim to take a little walk this afternoon," +asserted Pete, "and mebby he'd kind o' like +to keep me comp'ny." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have company—if you take a walk," said +one of the detectives significantly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap40"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XL +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS +</H3> + +<P> +Pete did not return to the veranda to finish his puzzle game with +little Ruth. He smiled rather grimly as he realized that he had a +puzzle game of his own to solve. He lay on the cot and his eyes closed +as he reviewed the vivid events in his life, from the beginning of the +trail, at Concho, to its end, here in El Paso. It seemed to spread out +before him like a great map: the desert and its towns, the hills and +mesas, trails and highways over which men scurried like black and red +ants, commingling, separating, hastening off at queer tangents, meeting +in combat, disappearing in crevices, reappearing and setting off again +in haste, searching for food, bearing strange burdens, scrambling +blindly over obstacles—collectively without seeming purpose—yet +individually bent upon some quest, impetuous and headstrong in their +strange activities. "And gittin' nowhere," soliloquized Pete, "except +in trouble." +</P> + +<P> +He thought of the letter from Bailey, and, sitting up, re-read it +slowly. So Steve Gary had survived, only to meet the inevitable end of +his kind. Well, Gary was always hunting trouble… Roth, the +storekeeper at Concho, ought to have the number of that gun which Pete +packed. If the sheriff of Sanborn was an old-timer he would know that +a man who packed a gun for business reasons did not go round the +country experimenting with different makes and calibers. Only the +"showcase" boys in the towns swapped guns. Ed Brevoort had always used +a Luger. Pete wondered if there had been any evidence of the caliber +of the bullet which had killed Brent. If the sheriff were an old-timer +such evidence would not be overlooked. +</P> + +<P> +Pete got up and wandered out to the veranda. The place was deserted. +He suddenly realized that those who were able had gone to their noon +meal. He had forgotten about that. He walked back to his room and sat +on the edge of his cot. He was lonesome and dispirited. He was not +hungry, but he felt decidedly empty. This was the first time that +Doris had allowed him to miss a meal, and it was her fault! She might +have called him. But what did she care? In raw justice to her—why +<I>should</I> she care? +</P> + +<P> +Pete's brooding eyes brightened as Doris came in with a tray. She had +thought that he had rather have his dinner there. "I noticed that you +did not come down with the others," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was angry with himself. Adam-like he said he wasn't hungry anyhow. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll take it back," said Doris sweetly, +</P> + +<P> +Adam-like, Pete decided that he was hungry. "Miss Gray," he blurted, +"I—I'm a doggone short-horn! I'm goin' to eat. I sure want to square +myself." +</P> + +<P> +"For what?" +</P> + +<P> +Doris was gazing at him with a serene directness that made him feel +that his clothing was several sizes too large for him. He realized +that generalities would hardly serve his turn just then. +</P> + +<P> +"I was settin' here feelin' sore at the whole doggone outfit," he +explained. "Sore at you—and everybody." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" said Doris unsmilingly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm askin' you to forgit that I was sore at you." Pete was not +ordinarily of an apologetic turn, and he felt that he pretty thoroughly +squared himself. +</P> + +<P> +"It really doesn't matter," said Doris, as she placed his tray on the +table and turned to go. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you're right." And his dark eyes grew moody again. +</P> + +<P> +"There's a man in the reception-room waiting to see you," said Doris. +"I told him you were having your dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"Another one, eh? Oh, I was forgittin'. I got a letter from Jim +Bailey"—Pete fumbled in his shirt—"and I thought mebby—" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope it's good news." +</P> + +<P> +"It sure is! Would you mind readin' it—to yourself—sometime?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—think I'd rather not," said Doris hesitatingly. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's face showed so plainly that he was hurt that Doris regretted her +refusal to read the letter. To make matters worse—for himself—Pete +asked that exceedingly irritating and youthful question, "Why?" which +elicits that distinctly unsatisfactory feminine answer, "Because." +That lively team "Why" and "Because" have run away with more chariots +of romance, upset more matrimonial bandwagons, and spilled more beans +than all the other questions and answers men and women have uttered +since that immemorial hour when Adam made the mistake of asking Eve why +she insisted upon his eating an apple right after breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +Doris was not indifferent to his request that she read the letter, but +she was unwilling to let Pete know it, and a little fearful that he +might interpret her interest for just what it was—the evidence of a +greater solicitude for his welfare than she cared to have him know. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, like most lusty sons of saddle-leather, shied at even the shadow +of sentiment—in this instance shying at his own shadow. He rode wide +of the issue, turning from the pleasant vista of who knows what +imaginings, to face the imperative challenge of immediate necessity, +which was, first, to eat something, and then to meet the man who waited +for him downstairs who, Pete surmised, was the sheriff of Sanborn +County. +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't mind tellin' him I'll come down as soon as I eat," said +Pete as he pulled up a chair. +</P> + +<P> +Doris nodded and turned to leave. Pete glanced up. She had not gone. +"Your letter,"—and Doris proffered the letter which he had left on the +cot. Pete was about to take it when he glanced up at her. She was +smiling at him. "You don't know how funny you look when you frown and +act—like—like a spoiled child," she laughed. "Aren't you ashamed of +yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I reckon I am," said Pete, grinning boyishly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ashamed of yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope! A spoiled kid, like you said. And I ain't forgittin' who +spoiled me." +</P> + +<P> +The letter, the man downstairs and all that his presence implied, past +and future possibilities, were forgotten in the brief glance that Doris +gave him as she turned in the doorway. And glory-be, she had taken the +letter with her! Pete gazed about the room to make sure that he was +not dreaming. No, the letter had disappeared—and but a moment ago +Doris had had it. And she still had it. "Well, she'll know I got one +or two friends, anyhow," reflected Pete as he ate his dinner. "When +she sees how Jim talks—and what he said Ma Bailey has to say to +me—mebby she'll—mebby—Doggone it! Most like she'll just hand it +back and smile and say she's mighty glad—and—but that ain't no sign +that I'm the only guy that ever got shot up, and fixed up, and turned +loose by a sure-enough angel… Nope! She ain't a angel—she's +real folks, like Ma Bailey and Andy and Jim. If I ain't darned careful +I'm like to find I done rid my hoss into a gopher-hole and got throwed +bad." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile "the man downstairs" was doing some thinking himself. That +morning he had visited police headquarters and inspected Pete's gun and +belongings—noting especially the hand-carved holster and the +heavy-caliber gun, the factory number of which he jotted down in his +notebook. Incidentally he had borrowed a Luger automatic from the +miscellaneous collection of weapons taken from criminals, assured +himself that it was not loaded, and slipped it into his coat-pocket. +Later he had talked with the officials, visited the Mexican +lodging-house, where he had obtained a description of the man who had +occupied the room with Pete, and stopping at a restaurant for coffee +and doughnuts, had finally arrived at the hospital prepared to hear +what young Annersley had to say for himself. +</P> + +<P> +Sheriff Jim Owen, unofficially designated as "Sunny Jim" because of an +amiable disposition, which in no way affected his official +responsibilities, was a dyed-in-the-wool, hair-cinched, range-branded, +double-fisted official, who scorned nickel-plated firearms, hard-boiled +hats, fancy drinks, and smiled his contempt for the rubber-heeled +methods of the city police. Sheriff Owen had no rubber-heeled +tendencies. He was frankness itself, both in peace and in war. It was +once said of him, by a lank humorist of Sanborn, that Jim Owen never +wasted any time palaverin' when <I>he</I> was flirtin' with death. That he +just met you with a gun in one hand and a smile in the other, and you +could take your choice—or both, if you was wishful. +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff was thinking, his hands crossed upon his rotund stomach and +his bowed legs as near crossed as they could ever be without an +operation. He was pretty well satisfied that the man upstairs, who +that pretty little nurse had said would be down in a few minutes, had +not killed Sam Brent. He had a few pertinent reasons for this +conclusion. First, Brent had been killed by a thirty-caliber, +soft-nosed bullet, which the sheriff had in his vest-pocket. Then, +from what he had been told, he judged that the man who actually killed +Brent would not have remained in plain sight in the lodging-house +window while his companion made his get-away. This act alone seemed to +indicate that of the two the man who had escaped was in the greater +danger if apprehended, and that young Annersley had generously offered +to cover his retreat so far as possible. Then, from the lodging-house +keeper's description of the other man, Jim Owen concluded that he was +either Ed Brevoort or Slim Harper, both of whom were known to have been +riding for the Olla. And the sheriff knew something of Brevoort's +record. +</P> + +<P> +Incidentally Sheriff Owen also looked up Pete's record. He determined +to get Pete's story and compare it with what the newspapers said and +see how close this combined evidence came to his own theory of the +killing of Brent. He was mentally piecing together possibilities and +probabilities, and the exact evidence he had, when Pete walked into the +reception-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Have a chair," said Sheriff Owen. "I got one." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm Pete Annersley," said Pete. "Did you want to see me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thought I'd call and introduce myself. I'm Jim Owen to my friends. +I'm sheriff of Sanborn County to others." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Mr. Owen," said Pete, smiling in spite of himself. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the idea—only make it Jim. Did you ever use one of these?" +And suddenly Sheriff Owen had a Luger automatic in his hand. Pete +wondered that a man as fat as the little sheriff could pull a gun so +quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—no. I ain't got no use for one of them doggone stutterin' +smoke-wagons." +</P> + +<P> +"Here, too," said Owen, slipping the Luger back into his pocket. +"Never shot one of 'em in my life. Ever try one?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—" Pete caught himself on the verge of saying that he had tried Ed +Brevoort's Luger once. He realized in a flash how close the sheriff +had come to trapping him. "I never took to them automatics," he +asserted lamely. +</P> + +<P> +Pete had dodged the question. On the face of it this looked as though +Pete might have been trying to shield himself by disclaiming any +knowledge of that kind of weapon. But Owen knew the type of man he was +talking to—knew that he would shield a companion even more quickly +than he would shield himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Sam Brent was killed by a bullet from a Luger," stated Owen. +</P> + +<P> +Pete's face expressed just the faintest shade of relief, but he said +nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"I got the bullet here in my pocket. Want to see it?" And before Pete +could reply, the sheriff fished out the flattened and twisted bullet +and handed it to Pete, who turned it over and over, gazing at it +curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Spreads out most as big as a forty-five," said Pete, handing it back. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—but it acts different. Travels faster—and takes more along with +it. Lot of 'em used in Texas and across the line. Ever have words +with Sam Brent?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Got along with him all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he pay your wages reg'lar?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Ever have any trouble with a man named Steve Gary?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but he's—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know. Used to know the man that got him. Wizard with a gun. +Meaner than dirt—" +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on!" said Pete. "He was my friend." +</P> + +<P> +"—to most folks," continued the rotund sheriff. "But I've heard said +he'd do anything for a man he liked. Trouble with him was he didn't +like anybody." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby he didn't," said Pete indifferently. +</P> + +<P> +"Because he couldn't trust anybody. Ever eat ice-cream?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who—me?" +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff smiled and nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. Ma Bailey made some onct, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Let's go out and get some. It's cooling and refreshing and +it's—ice-cream. Got a hat?" +</P> + +<P> +"Up in my room." +</P> + +<P> +"Go get it. I'll wait." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean?"—and Pete hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean anything. Heard you was going for a walk this afternoon. +Thought I'd come along. Want to get acquainted. Lonesome. Nobody to +talk to. Get your hat." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose I was to make a break—when we git outside?" said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Sheriff Owen smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That little nurse, +the one with the gray eyes—that said you were having dinner—is she +your reg'lar nurse?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you won't," said the sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +"How's that?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I talked with her. Sensible girl. Break <I>her</I> all up if her patient +was to make a break:—because"—and the sheriff's eyes ceased to +twinkle, although he still smiled—"because I'd have to break <I>you</I> all +up. Hate to do it. Hate to make her feel bad." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, shucks," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"You're right—shucks. That's what you'd look like. I pack a +forty-five—same as you. We can buy a hat—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll get it." And Pete left the room. +</P> + +<P> +He could not quite understand Sheriff Owen. In fact Pete did not come +half so close to understanding him as the sheriff came to understanding +Pete. But Pete understood one thing—and that was that Jim Owen was +not an easy proposition to fool with. +</P> + +<P> +"Now where do we head for?" said Owen as they stood at the foot of the +hospital steps. +</P> + +<P> +"I was goin' to the bank—the Stockmen's Security." +</P> + +<P> +"Good bank. You couldn't do better. Know old E.H. myself. Used to +know him better—before he got rich. No—this way. Short cut. You +got to get acquainted with your legs again, eh? Had a close call. A +little shaky?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I kin make it." +</P> + +<P> +"Call a cab if you say the word." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I figured I could walk," said Pete, biting his lips. But a few +more steps convinced him that the sheriff was taking no risk whatever +in allowing him his liberty. +</P> + +<P> +"Like to see old E.H. myself," stated the sheriff. "Never rode in a +cab in my life. Let's try one." +</P> + +<P> +And the sprightly sheriff of Sanborn County straightway hailed a +languorous cabby who sat dozing on the "high seat" of a coupe to which +was attached the most voluptuous-looking white horse that Pete had ever +seen. Evidently the "hospital stand" was a prosperous center. +</P> + +<P> +"We want to go to the Stockmen's Security Bank," said the sheriff, as +the coupe drew up to the curb. The driver nodded. +</P> + +<P> +Pete leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. Owen +glanced at him and shook his head. There was nothing vicious or brutal +in that face. It was not the face of a killer. +</P> + +<P> +Pete sat up suddenly. "I was forgittin' I was broke," and he turned to +Owen. +</P> + +<P> +"No. There's sixty-seven dollars and two-bits of yours over at the +station, along with your gun and a bundle of range clothes." +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot that." +</P> + +<P> +"Feel better?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fine—when I'm settin' still." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we're here. Go right in. I'll wait." +</P> + +<P> +Pete entered the bank and inquired for the president, giving the +attendant his name in lieu of the card for which he was asked. He was +shown in almost immediately, and a man somewhat of The Spider's type +assured him that he was the president and, as he spoke, handed Pete a +slip of paper such as Pete had never before seen. +</P> + +<P> +"You're Peter Annersley?" queried Hodges. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. What's this here?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's more money than I'd want to carry with me on the street," said +Hodges. "Have you anything that might identify you?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the idee?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Ewell had some money with us that he wished transferred to you, in +case anything happened to him. I guess you know what happened." Then +reflectively, "Jim was a queer one." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean The Spider wanted me to have this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That slip of paper represents just twenty-four thousand dollars +in currency. If you'll just endorse it—" +</P> + +<P> +"But it ain't my money!" said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a fool if you don't take it, young man. From what I have heard +you'll need it. It seems that Jim took a fancy to you. Said you had +played square with him—about that last deposit, I suppose. You don't +happen to have a letter with you, from him, I suppose, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I got this,"—and Pete showed President Hodges The Spider's note, +which Hodges read and returned. "That was like Jim. He wouldn't +listen to me." +</P> + +<P> +"And this was his money?" Pete was unable to realize the significance +of it all. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Now it's yours. You're lucky! Mighty lucky! Just endorse the +draft—right here. I'll have it cashed for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Write my name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, your full name, here." +</P> + +<P> +"And I git twenty-four thousand dollars for this?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you want to carry that much around with you. I'd advise you to +deposit the draft and draw against it." +</P> + +<P> +"If it's mine, I reckon I'd like to jest git it in my hands onct, +anyhow. I'd like to see what that much money feels like." +</P> + +<P> +Pete slowly wrote his name, thinking of The Spider and Pop Annersley as +he did so. Hodges took the draft, pressed a button, and a clerk +appeared, took the draft, and presently returned with the money in gold +and bank-notes of large denomination. +</P> + +<P> +When he had gone out, Hodges turned to Pete. "What are you going to do +with it? It's none of my business—now. But Jim and I were +friends—and if I can do anything—" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I'll put it back in—to my name," said Pete. "I sure ain't +scared to leave it with you—for The Spider he weren't." +</P> + +<P> +Hodges smiled grimly, and pressed a button on his desk. "New account," +he told the clerk. +</P> + +<P> +Pete sighed heavily when the matter had been adjusted, the +identification signature slips signed, and the bank-book made out in +his name. +</P> + +<P> +Hodges himself introduced Pete at the teller's window, thanked Pete +officially for patronizing the bank, and shook hands with him. "Any +time you need funds, just come in—or write to me," said Hodges. +"Good-bye, and good luck." +</P> + +<P> +Pete stumbled out of the bank and down the steps to the sidewalk. He +was rich—worth twenty-four thousand dollars! But why had The Spider +left this money to him? Surely The Spider had had some other +friend—or some relative…? +</P> + +<P> +"Step right in," said Sheriff Owen. "You look kind of white. Feeling +shaky?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some." +</P> + +<P> +"We want to go to the General Hospital," said the sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +Pete listened to the deliberate plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk of the white +mare's large and capable feet as the cab whirred softly along the +pavement. "I suppose you'll be takin' me over to Sanborn right soon," +he said finally. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I expect I ought to get back to my family," said the sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't kill Sam Brent," asserted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I never thought you did," said the sheriff, much to Pete's surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Then what's the idee of doggin' me around like I was a blame coyote?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because you have been traveling in bad company, son. And some one in +that said company killed Sam Brent." +</P> + +<P> +"And I got to stand for it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Looks that way. I been all kinds of a fool at different times, but +I'm not fool enough to ask you who killed Sam Brent. But I advise you +to tell the judge and jury when the time comes." +</P> + +<P> +"That the only way I kin square myself?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't say that. But it will help." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I don't say." +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you wouldn't. It's a case of circumstantial evidence. Brent +was found in that cactus forest near the station. The same night two +men rode into Sanborn and left their horses at the livery-stable. +These men took the train for El Paso, but jumped it at the crossing. +Later they were trailed to a rooming-house on Aliso Street. One of +them—and this is the queer part of it—got away after shooting his +pardner. The rubber heels in this town say these two men quarreled +about money—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's about all they know. Ed and me never—" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean Ed Brevoort, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's more 'n one Ed in this country." +</P> + +<P> +"There sure is. Old E.H. Hodges—he's Ed; and there's Ed Smally on the +force here, and Ed Cummings, the preacher over to Sanborn. Lots of +Eds. See here, son. If you want to get out of a bad hole, the +quickest way is for you to tell a straight story. Save us both time. +Been visiting with you quite a spell." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon we're here," said Pete as the cab stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"And I reckon you're glad of it. As I was saying, we been having quite +a visit—getting acquainted. Now if you haven't done anything the law +can hold you for, the more I know about what you have done the better +it will be for you. Think that over. If you can prove you didn't kill +Brent, then it's up to me to find out who did. Get a good sleep. I'll +drift round sometime to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +Back in his room Pete lay trying to grasp the full significance of the +little bank-book in his pocket. He wondered who would stop him if he +were to walk out of the hospital that evening or the next morning, and +leave town. He got up and strode nervously back and forth, fighting a +recurrent temptation to make his escape. +</P> + +<P> +He happened to glance in the mirror above the washstand. "That's the +only fella that kin stop me," he told himself. And he thought of Ed +Brevoort and wondered where Brevoort was, and if he were in need of +money. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Andover, making his afternoon rounds, stepped in briskly, glanced +at Pete's flushed face, and sitting beside him on the cot, took his +pulse and temperature with that professional celerity that makes the +busy physician. "A little temperature. Been out today?" +</P> + +<P> +"For a couple of hours." +</P> + +<P> +Andover nodded. "Well, young man, you get right into bed." +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon closed the door. Pete undressed grumblingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Now turn over. I want to look at your back. M-mm! Thought so. A +little feverish. Did you walk much?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope! We took a rig. I was with the sheriff." +</P> + +<P> +"I see! Excitement was a little too much for you. You'll have to go +slow for a few days." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm feelin' all right," asserted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"You think you are. How's your appetite?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't hungry." +</P> + +<P> +Andover nodded. "You'd better keep off your feet to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks, Doc! I'm sick of this here place!" +</P> + +<P> +Andover smiled. "Well, just between ourselves, so am I. I've been +here eight years. By the way, how would you like to take a ride with +me, next Thursday? I expect to motor out to Sanborn." +</P> + +<P> +"In that machine I seen you in the other day?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. New car. I'd like to try her out on a good straightaway—and +there's a pretty fair road up on this end of the mesa." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd sure like to go! Say, Doc, how much does one of them automobiles +cost?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, about three thousand, without extras." +</P> + +<P> +"How fast kin you go?" +</P> + +<P> +"Depends on the road. My car is guaranteed to do seventy-five on the +level." +</P> + +<P> +"Some stepper! You could git to Sanborn and back in a couple of hours." +</P> + +<P> +"Not quite. I figure it about a four-hour trip. I'd be glad to have +you along. Friend of mine tells me there's a thoroughbred saddle-horse +there that is going to be sold at auction. I've been advertising for a +horse for my daughter. You might look him over and tell me what you +think of him." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I know him already," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"How's that?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause they's no thoroughbred stock around Sanborn. If it's the one +I'm thinkin' about, it was left there by a friend of mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—I see! I remember, now. Sanborn is where you—er—took the train +for El Paso?" +</P> + +<P> +"We left our hosses there—same as the paper said." +</P> + +<P> +"H-mm! Well, I suppose the horse is to be sold for charges. Sheriff's +sale, I understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you're safe in buyin' <I>him</I> all right. And he sure is a good one." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll speak to the chief. I imagine he'll let you go with me." +</P> + +<P> +Pete shook his head. "Nope. He wouldn't even if he had the say. But +the sheriff of Sanborn County has kind of invited me to go over there +for a spell. I guess he figured on leavin' here in a couple of days." +</P> + +<P> +"He can't take you till I certify that you're able to stand the +journey," said Andover brusquely. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's comin' to-morrow. I'm dead sick of stayin' here. Can't +you tell him I kin travel?" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll see how you feel to-morrow. Hello! Here's Miss Gray. What, +six o'clock! I had no idea… Yes, a little temperature, Miss +Gray. Too much excitement. A little surface inflammation—nothing +serious. A good night's rest and he'll be a new man. Good-night." +</P> + +<P> +Pete was glad to see Doris. Her mere presence was restful. He sighed +heavily, glanced up at her and smiled. "A little soup, Miss Gray. +It's awful excitin'. Slight surface inflammation on them boiled beets. +Nothin' serious—they ain't scorched. A good night's rest and the +cook'll be a new man tomorrow. Doc Andover is sure all right—but I +always feel like he was wearin' kid gloves and was afraid of gittin' +'em dirty, every time he comes in." +</P> + +<P> +Doris was not altogether pleased by Pete's levity and her face showed +it. She did not smile, but rearranged the things on the tray in a +preoccupied manner, and asked him if there was anything else he wanted. +</P> + +<P> +"Lemme see?" Pete frowned prodigiously. "Got salt and pepper and +butter and sugar; but I reckon you forgot somethin' that I'm wantin' a +whole lot." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're forgittin' to smile." +</P> + +<P> +"I read that letter from Mr. Bailey." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm mighty glad you did, Miss Gray. I wanted you to know what was in +that letter. You'd sure like Ma Bailey, and Jim and Andy. Andy was my +pardner—when—afore I had that trouble with Steve Gary. No use tryin' +to step round it now. I reckon you know all about it." +</P> + +<P> +"And you will be going back to them—to your friends on the ranch?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—I aim to. I got to go over to Sanborn first." +</P> + +<P> +"Sanborn? Do you mean—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jest what you're thinkin', Miss Gray. I seen a spell back how you was +wonderin' that I could josh about my grub, and Doc Andover. Well, I +got in bad, and I ain't blamin' nobody—and I ain't blamin' myself—and +that's why I ain't hangin' my head about anything I done. And I ain't +kickin' because I got started on the wrong foot. <I>I'm</I> figurin' how I +kin git started on the other foot—and keep a-goin'." +</P> + +<P> +"But why should you tell me about these things? I can't help you. And +it seems terrible to think about them. If I were a man—like Dr. +Andover—" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you're right," said Pete. "I got no business loadin' you up +with all my troubles. I'm goin' to quit it. Only you been kind o' +like a pardner—and it sure was lonesome, layin' here and thinkin' +about everything, and not sayin' a word to nobody. But I jest want you +to know that I didn't kill Sam Brent—but I sure would 'a' got him—if +somebody hadn't been a flash quicker than me, that night. Brent was +after the money we was packin', and he meant business." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that—some one killed him in self-defense?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the idee. It was him or us." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why don't you tell the police that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I sure aim to. But what they want to know is who the fella was that +got Brent." +</P> + +<P> +"But the papers say that the other man escaped." +</P> + +<P> +"Which is right." +</P> + +<P> +"And you won't tell who he is?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nope." +</P> + +<P> +"But why not—if it means your own freedom?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby because they wouldn't believe me anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think that is your real reason. Oh, I forgot to return your +letter. I'll bring it next time." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be goin' Thursday. Doc Andover he's goin' over to Sanborn and he +ast me to go along with him." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—to stay?" +</P> + +<P> +"For a spell, anyhow. But I'm comin' back." +</P> + +<P> +Doris glanced at her wrist watch and realized that it was long past the +hour for the evening meal. "I'm going out to my sister's to-morrow, +for the day. I may not see you before you leave," +</P> + +<P> +Pete sat up. "Shucks! Well, I ain't sayin' thanks for what you done +for me, Miss Gray. 'Thanks' sounds plumb starvin' poor and rattlin', +side of what I want to tell you. I'd be a'most willin' to git shot +ag'in—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say that!" exclaimed Doris. +</P> + +<P> +"I would be shakin' hands with you," said Pete. "But this here is just +'Adios,' for I'm sure comin' back." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap41"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"A LAND FAMILIAR" +</H3> + +<P> +The following day Pete had a long talk with Sheriff Owen, a talk which +resulted in the sheriff's accompanying Andover and Pete on their desert +journey to Sanborn. +</P> + +<P> +Incidentally Pete gave his word that he would not try to escape. It +was significant, however, that the little sheriff expressed a +preference for the back seat, even before Andover, who had invited him +to make the journey, asked him if he cared to ride in front. The +sheriff's choice was more a matter of habit than preference, for, alone +upon the ample seat of the touring-car, he was shuttled ignominiously +from side to side and bounced and jolted until, during a stop for +water, he informed Andover that "he sure would have to pull leather to +stay with the car." +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon, a bit inclined to show off, did not hesitate to "step on +her," when the going was at all good. And any one familiar with the +road from El Paso to Sanborn is aware of just how good even the best +going is. Any one unfamiliar with that road is to be congratulated. +</P> + +<P> +Pete enjoyed the ride, as it brought him once more into the open +country. The car whirred on and on. It seemed to him as though he +were speeding from a nightmare of brick and stone and clamor into the +wide and sun-swept spaces of a land familiar and yet strange. +</P> + +<P> +They reached Sanborn about noon, having made about one hundred and +fifty miles in something like four hours. +</P> + +<P> +After a wash and a meal at the hotel, they strolled over to the +livery-stable to inspect the horse that Andover thought of buying. A +small crowd had collected at the stables, as the auction was advertised +to take place that afternoon. The sheriff himself started the bidding +on the thoroughbred, followed by the liveryman, who knew about what he +could get for the horse in El Paso. Andover raised his bid, which was +quickly raised in turn by the sheriff. Pete realized that Andover +really wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when the +bidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither the +liveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither of +them really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you want +him, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundred +less than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle—but +he's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle as +your gran'-mother." +</P> + +<P> +The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was a +pause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring with +his partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the price to two +hundred and fifty. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm through," said the liveryman. +</P> + +<P> +"Sold to—name, please—sold to Doctor John Andover for two hundred and +fifty dollars," said the auctioneer. Then, after a facetious +dissertation on thoroughbreds as against cow-ponies, Blue Smoke was led +out. Pete's face went red. Then he paled. He had not forgotten that +Blue Smoke was to be sold, but he had taken it for granted that he +would be allowed to reclaim him. Pete stepped over to the sheriff and +was about to enter a protest—offer to pay the board-bill against Blue +Smoke, when the bidding began with an offer of twenty-five dollars. +This was quickly run up to seventy-five when Pete promptly bid one +hundred, which was a fair auction price, although every man there knew +that Blue Smoke was worth more. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm bid one hundred twenty-five," cried the auctioneer, as a young, +bow-legged cowboy raised Pete's bid. +</P> + +<P> +"One-fifty," said Pete without hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff glanced at Pete, wondering if he would borrow the money +from Andover to make good his bid. But Pete was watching the +auctioneer's gavel—which happened to be a short piece of rubber +garden-hose. "Third and last chance!" said the auctioneer. "Nobody +want that pony as a present? All right—goin', I say! Goin', I say +<I>ag'in</I>! Gone! B' Gosh! at one hundred an' fifty dollars, to that +young gent over there that looks like he could ride him. What's the +name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pete Annersley." +</P> + +<P> +Several in the crowd turned and gazed curiously at Pete. But Pete's +eyes were upon Blue Smoke—his horse—the horse that had carried him +faithfully so many desert miles—a cow-pony that could "follow a +mountain trail all day and finish, a-steppin' high." +</P> + +<P> +"Much obliged for your advice about the thoroughbred," said Andover as +he stepped close to Pete. "Is that the pony you used to ride?" +</P> + +<P> +"He sure is. Say, Doc, I got the money to pay for him, but would you +mind writin' out a check. I ain't wise to this bankin' business yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Why—no. I'll do that. I—er—of course—I'm a little short myself. +New car—and this horse for my daughter. But I think I can manage. +You want to borrow a hundred and fifty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Doc, you got me wrong! I got the makin's all right, but I don't +jest sabe rollin' 'em." Pete dug into his coat-pocket and fetched up a +check-book. "Same as you paid for your hoss with." +</P> + +<P> +"This is Stockmen's Security. You have an account there?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what the president was callin' it. I call it dough. I got the +book." And Pete dug into his pocket again, watching Andover's face as +that astonished individual glanced at the deposit to Pete's credit. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you're the limit!"—and the doctor whistled. "What will you +spring next?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's <I>mine</I>, all right. A friend was leavin' it to me. He's +crossed over." +</P> + +<P> +"I s-e-e. Twenty-four thousand dollars! Young man, that's more money +than I ever had at one time in my life." +</P> + +<P> +"Same here,"—and Pete grinned. "But it don't worry me none." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll make out the check for you." And Andover pulled out his fountain +pen and stepped over to the auctioneer's stand. Pete signed the check +and handed it to the auctioneer. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know this man," said the auctioneer, as he glanced at the +signature. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll endorse it," volunteered Andover quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Doc." +</P> + +<P> +And Andover, whose account was as close to being overdrawn as it could +be and still remain an account, endorsed the check of a man worth +twenty-four thousand-odd dollars, and his endorsement was satisfactory +to the auctioneer. So much for professional egoism and six-cylinder +prestige. +</P> + +<P> +Sheriff Owen, who had kept a mild eye on Pete, had noted this +transaction. After Blue Smoke had been returned to the stables, he +took occasion to ask Pete if he were still a partner to the +understanding that he was on his honor not to attempt to escape. +</P> + +<P> +"I figured that deal was good till I got here," said Pete bluntly. +</P> + +<P> +"Just so, son. That's where my figuring stopped, likewise. Too much +open country. If you once threw a leg over that blue roan, I can see +where some of us would do some riding." +</P> + +<P> +"If I'd been thinkin' of leavin' you, it would 'a' been afore we got +here, sheriff." +</P> + +<P> +"So it's 'sheriff' now, and not Jim, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"It sure is—if you're thinkin' o' lockin' me up. You treated me white +back there in El Paso—so I'm tellin' you that if you lock me up—and I +git a chanct, I'll sure vamose." +</P> + +<P> +Pete's assertion did not seem to displease the sheriff in the least. +To the contrary, he smiled affably. +</P> + +<P> +"That's fair enough. And if I <I>don't</I> lock you up, but let you stay +over to the hotel, you'll hang around town till this thing is settled, +eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"I sure will." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you shake on that?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete thrust out his hand. "That goes, Jim." +</P> + +<P> +"Now you're talking sense, Pete. Reckon you better run along and see +what the Doc wants. He's waving to you." +</P> + +<P> +Andover sat in his car, drawing on his gloves. "I've arranged to have +the horse shipped to me by express. If you don't mind, I wish you +would see that he is loaded properly and that he has food and water +before the car leaves—that is"—and Andover cleared his throat—"if +you're around town tomorrow. The sheriff seems to allow you a pretty +free hand—possibly because I assured him that you were not physically +fit to—er—ride a horse. Since I saw that bank-book of yours, I've +been thinking more about your case. If I were you I would hire the +best legal talent in El Paso, and fight that case to a finish. You can +pay for it." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean for me to hire a lawyer to tell 'em I didn't kill Sam Brent?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not exactly that—but hire a lawyer to <I>prove</I> to the judge and jury +that you didn't kill him." +</P> + +<P> +"Then a fella's got to pay to prove he didn't do somethin' that he's +arrested for, and never done?" +</P> + +<P> +"Often enough. And he's lucky if he has the money to do it. Think it +over—and let me know how you are getting along. Miss Gray will be +interested also." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. Thanks, Doc. I ain't forgittin' you folks." +</P> + +<P> +Andover waved his hand as he swung the car round and swept out of town. +Pete watched him as he sped out across the mesa. +</P> + +<P> +Sheriff Owen was standing in the livery-stable door across the street +as Pete turned and started toward him. Midway across the street Pete +felt a sharp pain shoot through his chest. It seemed as though the air +had been suddenly shut from his lungs and that he could neither speak +nor breathe. He heard an exclamation and saw Owen coming toward him. +Owen, who had seen him stop and sway, was asking a question. A dim +blur of faces—an endless journey along a street and up a narrow +stairway—and Pete lay staring at yellow wall-paper heavily sprinkled +with impossible blue roses. Owen was giving him whiskey—a sip at a +time. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you feel now?" queried the sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm all right. Somethin' caught me quick—out there." +</P> + +<P> +"Your lungs have been working overtime. Too much fresh air all at +once. You'll feel better tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon you won't have to set up and watch the front door," said +Pete, smiling faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Or the back door. You're in the Sanborn House—room 11, second floor, +and there's only one other floor and that's downstairs. If you want +any thing—just pound on the floor. They'll understand." +</P> + +<P> +"About payin' for my board—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right. I got your money—and your other stuff that I might +need for evidence. Take it easy." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon I'll git up," said Pete. "I'm all right now." +</P> + +<P> +"Better wait till I come back from the office. Be back about six. Got +to write some letters. Your case—called next Thursday." And Sheriff +Owen departed, leaving Pete staring at yellow wallpaper sprinkled with +blue roses. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap42"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"OH, SAY TWO THOUSAND" +</H3> + +<P> +Just one week from the day on which Pete arrived in Sanborn he was +sitting in the witness chair, telling an interested judge and jury, and +a more than interested attorney for the defense, the story of his +life—"every hour of which," the attorney for the defense shrewdly +observed in addressing the court, "has had a bearing upon the case." +</P> + +<P> +Pete spoke quietly and at times with considerable unconscious humor. +He held back nothing save the name of the man who had killed Brent, +positively refusing to divulge Brevoort's name. His attitude was +convincing—and his story straightforward and apparently without a +flaw, despite a spirited cross-examination by the State. The trial was +brief, brisk, and marked by no wrangling. Sheriff Owen's testimony, +while impartial, rather favored the prisoner than otherwise. +</P> + +<P> +In his address to the jury, Pete's attorney made no appeal in respect +to the defendant's youth, his struggle for existence, or the +defendant's willingness to stand trial, for Pete had unwittingly made +that appeal himself in telling his story. The attorney for the defense +summed up briefly, thanking the jury for listening to him—and then +suddenly whirled and pointed his finger at the sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +"I ask you as sheriff of Sanborn County why you allowed the defendant +his personal liberty, unguarded and unattended, pending this trial." +</P> + +<P> +"Because he gave his word that he would not attempt to escape," said +Sheriff Owen. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it!" cried the attorney. "The defendant <I>gave his word</I>. And +if Sheriff Owen, accustomed as he is to reading character in a man, was +willing to take this boy's word as a guarantee of his presence here, on +trial for his life, is there a man among us who (having heard the +defendant testify) is willing to stand up and say that he doubts the +defendant's word? If there is I should like to look at that man! No! +</P> + +<P> +"Gentlemen, I would ask you to recall the evidence contained in the +letter written by former employers of the defendant, substantiating my +assertion that this boy has been the victim of circumstances, and not +the victim of perverse or vicious tendencies. Does he look like a +criminal? Does he act like a criminal? I ask you to decide." +</P> + +<P> +The jury was out but a few minutes, when they filed into court and +returned a verdict of "Not guilty." +</P> + +<P> +The attorney for the defense shook hands with Pete, and gathered up his +papers. +</P> + +<P> +Outside the courtroom several of the jury expressed a desire to make +Pete's acquaintance, curiously anxious to meet the man who had known +the notorious Spider personally. Pete was asked many questions. One +juror, a big, bluff cattleman, even offered Pete a job—"in case he +thought of punchin' cattle again, instead of studyin' law"—averring +that Pete "was already a better lawyer than that shark from El Paso, at +any turn of the trial." +</P> + +<P> +Finally the crowd dwindled to Owen, the El Paso lawyer, two of Owen's +deputies, and Pete, who suggested that they go over to the hotel until +train-time. +</P> + +<P> +When Pete came to pay the attorney, whom Andover had secured following +a letter from Pete, the attorney asked Pete how much he could afford. +Pete, too proud to express ignorance, and feeling mightily impressed by +the other's ability, said he would leave that to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, including expenses, say two thousand dollars," said the attorney. +</P> + +<P> +Pete wrote the check and managed to conceal his surprise at the amount, +which the attorney had mentioned in such an offhand way. "I'm thankin' +you for what you done," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't mention it. Now, I'm no longer your legal adviser, Annersley, +and I guess you're glad of it. But if I were I'd suggest that you go +to some school and get an education. No matter what you intend to do +later, you will find that an education will be extremely useful, to say +the least. I worked my way through college—tended furnaces in winter +and cut lawns in summer. And from what Andover tells me, you won't +have to do that. Well, I think I'll step over to the station; train's +due about now." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll tell Doc Andover how it come out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. He'll want to know. Take care of yourself. Good-bye!" +</P> + +<P> +Owen and his deputies strolled over to the station with the El Paso +attorney. Pete, standing out in front of the hotel, saw the train pull +in and watched the attorney step aboard. +</P> + +<P> +"First, Doc Andover says to hire a good lawyer, which I done, and good +ones sure come high." Pete sighed heavily—then grinned. "Well, say +two thousand—jest like that! Then the lawyer says to git a education. +Wonder if I was to git a education what the professor would be tellin' +me to do next. Most like he'd be tellin' me to learn preachin' or +somethin'. Then if I was to git to be a preacher, I reckon all I could +do next would be to go to heaven. Shucks! Arizona's good enough for +me." +</P> + +<P> +But Pete was not thinking of Arizona alone—of the desert, the hills +and the mesas, the cañons and arroyos, the illimitable vistas and the +color and vigor of that land. Persistently there rose before his +vision the trim, young figure of a nurse who had wonderful gray +eyes… "I'm sure goin' loco," he told himself. "But I ain't so +loco that she's goin' to know it." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you'll be hitting the trail over the hill right soon," said +Owen as he returned from the station and seated himself in one of the +ample chairs on the hotel veranda. "Have a cigar." +</P> + +<P> +Pete shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"They're all right. That El Paso lawyer smokes 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"They ought to be all right," asserted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he touch you pretty hard?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, say two thousand, jest like that!" +</P> + +<P> +The sheriff whistled. "Shooting-scrapes come high." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I ain't sore at him. What makes me sore is this here law that +sticks a fella up and takes his money—makin' him pay for somethin' he +never done. A poor man would have a fine chance, fightin' a rich man +in court, now, wouldn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's something in that. The <I>Law</I>, as it stands, is all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebby. But she don't stand any too steady when a poor man wants to +fork her and ride out of trouble. He's got to have a morral full of +grain to git her to stand—and even then she's like to pitch him if she +gits a chanct. I figure she's a bronco that never was broke right." +</P> + +<P> +"Well,"—and Owen smiled,—"we got pitched this time. We lost our +case." +</P> + +<P> +"You kind o' stepped up on the wrong side," laughed Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know about that. <I>Somebody</I> killed Sam Brent." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon they did. But supposin'—'speakin' kind o' offhand'—that +you had the fella—and say I was witness, and swore the fella killed +Brent in self-defense—where would he git off?" +</P> + +<P> +"That would depend entirely on his reputation—and yours." +</P> + +<P> +"How about the reputation of the fella that was killed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it was Brent's reputation that got you off to-day, as much as +your own. Brent was foreman for The Spider, which put him in bad from +the start, and he was a much older man than you. He was the kind to do +just what you said he did—try to hold you up and get The Spider's +money. It was a mighty lucky thing for you that you managed to get +that money to the bank before they got you. You were riding straight +all right, only you were on the wrong side of the fence, and I guess +you knew it." +</P> + +<P> +"I sure did." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it ain't for me to tell you which way to head in. You know what +you're doing. You've got what some folks call Character, and plenty of +it. But you're wearin' a reputation that don't fit." +</P> + +<P> +"Same as clothes, eh?"—and Pete grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And you can change <I>them</I>—if you want to change 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"But that there character part stays jest the same, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You can't change that." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know as I want to. But I'm sure goin' to git into my other +clothes, and take the trail over the hill that you was talkin' about." +</P> + +<P> +"There are six ways to travel from here,"—and the sheriff's eyes +twinkled. +</P> + +<P> +"Six? Now I figured about four." +</P> + +<P> +"Six. When it comes to direction, the old Hopis had us beat by a +couple of trails. They figured east, west, north, and south, straight +down and straight up." +</P> + +<P> +"I git you, Jim. Well, minin' never did interest me none—and as for +flyin', I sure been popped as high as I want to go. I reckon I'll jest +let my hoss have his head. I reckon him and me has got about the same +idee of what looks good." +</P> + +<P> +"That pony of yours has never been in El Paso, has he?" queried the +sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. Reckon it would be mighty interestin' for him—and the folks +that always figured a sidewalk was jest for folks and not for +hosses—but I ain't lookin' for excitement, nohow." +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon that blue roan will give you all you want, any way you ride. +He hasn't been ridden since you left him here." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—and it sure makes me sore. Doc Andover said I was to keep off a +hoss for a week yet. Sanborn is all right—but settin' on that hotel +porch lookin' at it ain't." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'd do what the Doc says, just the same. He ought to know." +</P> + +<P> +"I see—he ought to. He sure prospected round inside me enough to know +how things are." +</P> + +<P> +"You might come over to my office when you get tired of sitting around +here. There ain't anything much to do—but I've got a couple of old +law books that might interest you—and a few novels—and if you want +some real excitement I got an old dictionary—" +</P> + +<P> +"That El Paso lawyer was tellin' me I ought to git a education. Don't +know but what this is a good chanct. But I reckon I'll try one of them +novels first. Mebby when I git that broke to gentle I can kind o' ride +over and fork one of them law books without gittin' throwed afore I git +my spurs hooked in good. But I sure don't aim to take no quick +chances, even if you are ridin' herd for me." +</P> + +<P> +"That lawyer was right, Pete. And if I had had your chance, money, and +no responsibilities—at your age, I wouldn't have waited to pack my +war-bag to go to college." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I figured <I>you</I> was educated, all right. Why, that there lawyer +was sayin' right out in court about you bein' intelligent and +well-informed, and readin' character." +</P> + +<P> +"He was spreading it on thick, Pete. Regular stuff. What little I +know I got from observation—and a little reading." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I aim to do some lookin' around myself. But when it comes to +readin' books—" +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon I'll let you take 'Robinson Crusoe'—it's a bed-rock story. +And if you finish that before you leave, I'll bet you a new Stetson +that you'll ask for another." +</P> + +<P> +"I could easy win that hat,"—and Pete grinned. +</P> + +<P> +"Not half as easy as you could afford to lose it." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' I could buy one 'most any time?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I'll let you figure out what I meant." And the sturdy little +sheriff heaved himself out of a most comfortable chair and waddled up +the street, while Pete stared after him trying to reconcile bow-legs +and reading books, finally arriving at the conclusion that education, +which he had hitherto associated with high collars and helplessness, +might perhaps be acquired without loss of self-respect. "It sure +hadn't spoiled Jim Owen," who was "as much of a real man as any of +'em"—and could handle talk a whole lot better than most men who +boasted legs like his. Why, even that El Paso lawyer had complimented +Owen on his "concise and eloquent summary of his findings against the +defendant." And Pete reflected that his lawyer had not thrown any +bouquets at any one else in that courtroom. +</P> + +<P> +Just how much a little gray-eyed nurse in El Paso had to do with Pete's +determination to browse in those alien pastures is a matter for +speculation—but a matter which did not trouble Pete in the least, +because it never occurred to him; evident in his confession to Andy +White, months later: "I sure went to it with my head down and my ears +laid back, takin' the fences jest as they come, without stoppin' to +look for no gate. I sure jagged myself on the top-wire, frequent, but +I never let that there Robinson Crusoe cuss git out of sight till I run +him into his a home-corral along with that there man-eatin' nigger of +his'n." +</P> + +<P> +So it would seem that not even the rustle of skirts was heard in the +land as Pete made his first wild ride across the pleasant pastures of +Romance—for Doris had no share in this adventure, and, we are told, +the dusky ladies of that carnivorous isle did not wear them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap43"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLIII +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A NEW HAT—A NEW TRAIL +</H3> + +<P> +The day before Pete left Sanborn he strolled over to the sheriff's +office and returned the old and battered copy of "Robinson Crusoe," +which he had finished reading the night previous. "I read her, clean +through," asserted Pete, "but I'd never made the grade if you hadn't +put me wise to that there dictionary. Gosh! I never knowed there was +so many ornery words bedded down in that there book." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of the story?" queried the sheriff. +</P> + +<P> +"If that Robinson Crusoe guy had only had a hoss instead of a bunch of +goats, he sure could have made them natives ramble. And he sure took a +whole lot of time blamin' himself for his hard luck—always a-settin' +back, kind o' waitin' for somethin'—instead of layin' out in the brush +and poppin' at them niggers. He wa'n't any too handy at readin' a +trail, neither. But he made the grade—and that there Friday was sure +one white nigger." +</P> + +<P> +"Want to tackle another story?" queried Owen, as he put the book back +on the shelf. +</P> + +<P> +"If it's all the same to you, I'd jest as soon read this one over +ag'in. I was trailin' that old Crusoe hombre so clost I didn't git +time to set up and take in the scenery." +</P> + +<P> +In his eagerness to re-read the story Pete had forgotten about the +wager. Owen's eyes twinkled as he studied Pete's face. "We had a +bet—" said Owen. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right! I plumb forgot about that. You said you bet me a new +hat that I'd ask you for another book. Well—what you grinnin' at, +anyhow? 'Cause you done stuck me for a new lid? Oh, I git you! You +said <I>another</I> book, and I'm wantin' to read the same one over again. +Shucks! I ain't goin' to fore-foot you jest because you rid into a +loop layin' in the tall grass where neither of us seen it." +</P> + +<P> +"I lose on a technicality. I ought to lose. Now if I had bet you a +new hat that you would want to keep on reading instead of that you'd +ask for <I>another</I> book—" +</P> + +<P> +"But this ain't no law court, Jim. It was what you was meanin' that +counts." +</P> + +<P> +"Serves me right. I was preaching to you about education—and I'm game +to back up the idea—even if I did let my foot slip. Come on over to +Jennings's with me and I'll get that hat." +</P> + +<P> +"All right!" And Pete rolled a smoke as the sheriff picked up several +addressed letters and tucked them in his pocket. "I was goin' over to +the post-office, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +They crossed to the shady side of the street, the short, ruddy little +sheriff and the tall, dark cowboy, each more noticeable by contrast, +yet neither consciously aware of the curious glances cast at them by +occasional townsfolk, some of whom were small enough to suspect that +Pete and the sheriff had collaborated in presenting the evidence which +had made Pete a free man; and that they were still collaborating, as +they seemed very friendly toward each other. +</P> + +<P> +Pete tried on several hats and finally selected one. "Let's see how it +looks on you," he said, handing it to the sheriff. "I don't know how +she looks." +</P> + +<P> +Owen tried the hat on, turning to look into the mirror at the end of +the counter. Pete casually picked up the sheriff's old hat and glanced +at the size. +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon I'll take it," said Pete, as Owen returned it. "This here one +of mine never did fit too good. It was Andy's hat." +</P> + +<P> +Certain male gossips who infested the groceries, pool-halls, and +post-office of Sanborn, shook their heads and talked gravely about +bribery and corruption and politics and what not, when they learned +that the sheriff had actually bought a hat for that young outlaw that +he was so mighty thick with. "And it weren't no fairy-story neither. +Bill Jennings sold the hat hisself, and the sheriff paid for it, and +that young Annersley walked out of the store with said hat on his +<I>head</I>. Yes, sir! Things looked mighty queer." +</P> + +<P> +"Things would 'a' looked a mighty sight queerer if he'd 'a' walked out +with it on his foot," suggested a friend of Owen's who had been +buttonholed and told the alarming news. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Pete attended to his own business, which was to get his few +things together, pay his hotel-bill, settle his account with the +sheriff—which included cab-hire in El Paso—and write a letter to +Doris Gray—the latter about the most difficult task he had ever faced. +He thought of making her some kind of present—but his innate good +sense cautioned him to forego that pleasure for a while, for in making +her a present he might also make a mistake—and Pete was becoming a bit +cautious about making mistakes, even though he did think that that +green velvet hat with a yellow feather, in the millinery store in +Sanborn, was about the most high-toned ladies' sky-piece that he had +ever beheld. Pete contented himself with buying a new Stetson for +Sheriff Owen—to be delivered after Pete had left town. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, long before the inhabitants of Sanborn had thrown back +their blankets, Pete was saddling Blue Smoke, frankly amazed that the +pony had shown no evidence of his erstwhile early-morning activities. +He wondered if the horse were sick. Blue Smoke looked a bit fat, and +his eye was dull—but it was the dullness of resentment rather than of +poor physical condition. Well fed, and without exercise, Blue Smoke +had become more or less logy, and he looked decidedly disinterested in +life as Pete cautiously pulled up the front cinch. +</P> + +<P> +"He's too doggone quiet to suit me," Pete told the stable-man. +</P> + +<P> +"He's thinkin'," suggested that worthy facetiously. +</P> + +<P> +"So am I," asserted Pete, not at all facetiously. +</P> + +<P> +Out in the street Pete "cheeked" Blue Smoke, and swung up quickly, +expecting the pony to go to it, but Smoke merely turned his head and +gazed at the livery with a sullen eye. +</P> + +<P> +"He's sad to leave his boardin'-house,"—and Pete touched Smoke with +the spur. Smoke further surprised Pete by striking into a mild +cow-trot, as they turned the corner and headed down the long road at +the end of which glimmered the far brown spaces, slowly changing in +color as the morning light ran slanting toward the west. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' to do but go," reflected Pete, still a trifle suspicious of +Blue Smoke's gentlemanly behavior. The sun felt warm to Pete's back. +The rein-chains jingled softly. The saddle creaked a rhythmic +complaint of recent disuse. +</P> + +<P> +Pete, who had said good-bye to the sheriff the night before, turned his +face toward the open with a good, an almost too good, horse between his +knees and a new outlook upon the old familiar ranges and their devious +trails. +</P> + +<P> +Past a somber forest of cacti, shot with myriad angling shadows, +desolate and forbidding, despite the open sky and the morning sun, Pete +rode slowly, peering with eyes aslant at the dense growth close to the +road, struggling to ignore the spot. Despite his determination, he +could not pass without glancing fearsomely as though he half-expected +to see something there—something to identify the spot as that shadowy +place where Brent had stood that night… +</P> + +<P> +Blue Smoke, hitherto as amiably disposed to take his time as was Pete +himself, shied suddenly. Through habit, Pete jabbed him with the spur, +to straighten him back in the road again. Pete had barely time to +mutter an audible "I thought so!" when Blue Smoke humped himself. Pete +slackened to the first wild lunge, grabbed off his hat and swung it as +Blue Smoke struck at the air with his fore feet, as though trying to +climb an invisible ladder. Pete swayed back as the horse came down in +a mighty leap forward, and hooking his spurs in the cinch, rocked to +each leap and lunge like a leaf caught up in a desert whirlwind. When +Pete saw that Smoke's first fine frenzy had about evaporated, he urged +him to further endeavors with the spurs, but Blue Smoke only grunted +and dropped off into a most becoming and gentlemanly lope. And Pete +was not altogether displeased. His back felt as though it had been +seared with a branding-iron, and the range to the west was heaving most +indecorously, cavorting around the horizon as though strangely excited +by Blue Smoke's sudden and seemingly unaccountable behavior. +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon we're both feelin' better!" Pete told the pony. "I needed +jest that kind of a jolt to feel like I was livin' ag'in. But you +needn't be in such a doggone hurry to go and tell your friends how good +you're feelin'. Jest come down off that lope. We got all day to git +there." +</P> + +<P> +Blue Smoke shook his head as Pete pulled him to a trot. The cactus +forest was behind them. Ahead lay the open, warm brown in the sun, and +across it ran a dwindling grayish line, the road that ran east and west +across the desert,—a good enough road as desert roads go, but Pete, +despite his satisfaction in being out in the open again, grew somewhat +tired of its monotonously even wagon-rutted width, and longed for a +trail—a faint, meandering trail that would swing from the road, dip +into a sand arroyo, edge slanting up the farther bank, wriggle round a +cluster of small hills, shoot out across a mesa, and climb slowly +toward those hills to the west, finally to contort itself into +serpentine switchbacks as it sought the crest—and once on the crest +(which was in reality but the visible edge of another great mesa), +there would be grass for a horse and cedar-wood for a fire, and water +with which to make coffee. +</P> + +<P> +Pete had planned that his first night should be spent in the open, with +no other companions than the friendly stars. As for Blue Smoke, well, +a horse is the best kind of a pal for a man who wishes to be alone, a +pal who takes care of himself, never complains of weariness, and eats +what he finds to eat with soulful satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +Pete made his first night's camp as he had planned, hobbled Blue Smoke, +and, having eaten, he lay resting, his head on his saddle and his gaze +fixed upon the far glory of the descending sun. The sweet, acrid +fragrance of cedar smoke, the feel of the wind upon his face, the +contented munching of his pony, the white radiance of the stars that +came quickly, and that indescribable sense of being at one with the +silences, awakened memories of many an outland camp-fire, when as a boy +he had journeyed with the horse-trader, or when Pop Annersley and he +had hunted deer in the Blue Range. And it seemed to Pete that that had +been but yesterday—"with a pretty onnery kind of a dream in between," +he told himself. +</P> + +<P> +As the last faint light faded from the west and the stars grew big, +Pete thanked those same friendly stars that there would be a +To-morrow—with sunlight, silence, and a lone trail to ride. Another +day and he would reach old Flores's place in the cañon—but Boca would +not be there. Then he would ride to Showdown.—Some one would be at +The Spider's place… He could get feed for his horse… And +the next day he would ride to the Blue and camp at the old cabin. +Another day and he would be at the Concho… Andy, and Jim, and Ma +Bailey would be surprised… No, he hadn't come back to stay… +Just dropped in to say "Hello!"… +</P> + +<P> +Pete smiled faintly as a coyote shrilled his eternal plaint. This was +something like it. The trembling Pleiades grew blurred. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap44"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLIV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE OLD TRAIL +</H3> + +<P> +The following afternoon Pete, stiff and weary from his two days' ride, +entered the southern end of Flores's cañon and followed the trail along +the stream-bed—now dry and edged with crusted alkali—until he came +within sight of the adobe. In the half-light of the late afternoon he +could not distinguish objects clearly, but he thought he could discern +the posts of the pole corral and the roof of the meager stable. Nearer +he saw that there was no smoke coming from the mud chimney of the +adobe, and that the garden-patch was overgrown with weeds. +</P> + +<P> +No one answered his call as he rode up and dismounted. He found the +place deserted and he recalled the Mexican woman's prophecy. +</P> + +<P> +He pushed open the sagging door and entered. There was the +oilcloth-covered table and the chairs—a broken box in the middle of +the room, an old installment-house catalogue, from which the colored +prints had been torn, an empty bottle—and in the kitchen were the +rusted stove and a few battered and useless cooking-utensils. An odor +of stale grease pervaded the place. In the narrow bedroom—Boca's +room—-was a colored fashion-plate pinned on the wall. +</P> + +<P> +Pete shrugged his shoulders and stepped out. Night was coming swiftly. +He unsaddled Blue Smoke and hobbled him. The pony strayed off up the +stream-bed. Pete made a fire by the corral, ate some beans which he +warmed in the can, drank a cup of coffee, and, raking together some +coarse dried grass, turned in and slept until the sound of his pony's +feet on the rocks of the stream-bed awakened him. He smelt dawn in the +air, although it was still dark in the cañon, and having in mind the +arid stretch between the cañon and Showdown, he made breakfast. He +caught up his horse and rode up the trail toward the desert. On the +mesa-edge he re-cinched his saddle and turned toward the north. +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +Flores, who with his wife was living at The Spider's place, recognized +him at once and invited him in. +</P> + +<P> +"What hit this here town, anyhow?" queried Pete. "I didn't see a soul +as I come through." +</P> + +<P> +Flores shrugged his shoulders. "The vaqueros from over there"—and he +pointed toward the north—"they came—and now there is but this +left"—and he indicated the saloon. "The others they have gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Cleaned out the town, eh? Reckon that was the T-Bar-T and the boys +from the Blue and the Concho. How'd they come to miss you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am old—and my wife is old—and after they had drank the +wine—leaving but little for us—they laughed and said that we might +stay and be dam': that we were too old to steal cattle." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. Cleaned her out reg'lar! How's the señora?" +</P> + +<P> +Flores touched his forehead. "She is thinking of Boca—and no one else +does she know." +</P> + +<P> +"Gone loco, eh? Well, she ain't so bad off at that—seein' as <I>you're</I> +livin' yet. No, I ain't comin' in. But you can sell me some +tortillas, if you got any." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be night soon. If the señor—" +</P> + +<P> +"Go ask the Señora if she has got any tortillas to sell. I wouldn't +bush in there on a bet. Don't you worry about my health." +</P> + +<P> +"We are poor, señor! We have this place, and the things—but of the +money I know nothing. My wife she has hidden it." +</P> + +<P> +"She ain't so crazy as you think, if that's so. Do you run this +place—or are you jest starvin' to death here?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is still a little wine—and we buy what we may need of +Mescalero. If you will come in—" +</P> + +<P> +"So they missed old Mescalero! Well, he's lucky. No, I don't come in. +I tried boardin' at your house onct." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will get the tortillas." And Flores shuffled into the saloon. +Presently he returned with a half-dozen tortillas wrapped up in an old +newspaper. Pete tossed him a dollar, and packing the tortillas in his +saddle-pockets, gazed round at the town, the silent and deserted +houses, the empty street, and finally at The Spider's place. +</P> + +<P> +Old Flores stood in the doorway staring at Pete with drink-blurred +eyes. Pete hesitated. He thought of dismounting and going in and +speaking to Flores's wife. But no! It would do neither of them any +good. Flores had intimated that she had gone crazy. And Pete did not +want to talk of Boca—nor hear her name mentioned. "Boca's where she +ain't worryin' about anybody," he reflected as he swung round and rode +out of town. +</P> + +<P> +Once before he had camped in the same draw, a few miles west of +Showdown, and Blue Smoke seemed to know the place, for he had swung +from the trail of his own accord, striding straight to the water-hole. +</P> + +<P> +"And if you keep on actin' polite," Pete told the pony as he hobbled +him that evening, "you'll get a good reputation, like Jim Owen said; +which is plumb necessary, if you an' me's goin' to be pals. But if +gettin' a good reputation is goin' to spoil your wind or legs any—why, +jest keep on bein' onnery—which Jim was tellin' me is called +'Character.'" +</P> + +<P> +As Pete hardened to the saddle and Blue Smoke hardened to the trail, +they traveled faster and farther each day, until, on the Blue Mesa, +where the pony grazed and Pete squatted beside his night-fire in the +open, they were but a half-day's journey from the Concho. Pete almost +regretted that their journey must come to an end. But he could not go +on meandering about the country without a home and without an object in +life: <I>that</I> was pure loafing. +</P> + +<P> +Pete might have excused himself on the ground that he needed just this +sort of thing after his serious operation; but he was honest with +himself, admitting that he felt fit to tackle almost any kind of hard +work, except perhaps writing letters—for he now thought well enough of +himself to believe that Doris Gray would answer his letter to her from +Sanborn. And of course he would answer her letter—and if he answered +that, she would naturally answer… Shucks! Why should she write +to him? All he had ever done for her was to make her a lot of bother +and hard work. And what good was his money to him? He couldn't just +walk into a store and buy an education and have it wrapped up in paper +and take it to her and say, "Here, Miss Gray. I got a education—the +best they had in the outfit. Now if you'll take it as a kind of +present—and me along with it…" +</P> + +<P> +Pete was camping within fifty yards of the spot where old Pop Annersley +had tried to teach him to read and write—it seemed a long time ago, +and Annersley himself seemed more vague in Pete's memory, as he tried +to recall the kindly features and the slow, deliberate movements of the +old man. It irritated Pete that he could not recall old man +Annersley's face distinctly. He could remember his voice, and one or +two characteristic gestures—but his face— +</P> + +<P> +Pete stared into the camp-fire, dreaming back along that trail over +which he had struggled and fought and blundered; back to the time when +he was a waif in Enright, his only companion a lean yellow dog… +Pete nodded and his eyes closed. He turned lazily and leaned back +against his saddle. +</P> + +<P> +The mesa, carpeted with sod-grass, gave no warning of the approaching +horseman, who had seen the tiny fire and had ridden toward it. Just +within the circle of firelight he reined in and was about to call out +when that inexplicable sense inherent in animals, the Indian, and in +some cases the white man, brought Pete to his feet. In that same +lightning-swift, lithe movement he struck his gun from the holster and +stood tense as a buck that scents danger on the wind. +</P> + +<P> +Pete blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Keep your hands right where +they be and step down off that hoss—" +</P> + +<P> +The rider obeyed. Pete moved from the fire that his own shadow might +not fall upon the other. "Pete!" exclaimed the horseman in a sort of +choking whisper. +</P> + +<P> +The gun sagged in Peter's hand. "Andy! For God's sake!—I come clost +to killin' you!" And he leaped and caught Andy White's hand, shook it, +flung his arm about his shoulders, stepped back and struck him +playfully on the chest, grabbed him and shook him—and then suddenly he +turned and walked back to the fire and sat down, blinking into the +flames, and trying to swallow nothing, harder than he had ever tried to +swallow anything in his life. +</P> + +<P> +He heard Andy's step behind him, and heard his own name spoken again. +"It was my fault, Pete. I ought to 'a' hollered. I saw your fire and +rode over—" Andy's hand was on Pete's shoulder, and that shoulder was +shaking queerly. Andy drew back. "There goes that dam' cayuse," cried +Andy. "I'll go catch him up, and let him drag a rope." +</P> + +<P> +When Andy returned from putting an unnecessary rope on a decidedly +tired horse that was quite willing to stand right where he was, Pete +had pulled himself together and was rolling a cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you ole sun-of-a-gun!" said Pete; "want to swap hats? Say, +how'll you swap?" +</P> + +<P> +Andy grinned, but his grin faded to a boyish seriousness as he took off +his own Stetson and handed it to Pete, who turned it round and +tentatively poked his fingers through the two holes in the crown. "You +got my ole hat yet, eh? Doggone if it ain't my ole hat. And she's +ventilated some, too. Well, I'm listenin'." +</P> + +<P> +"And you sure are lookin' fine, Pete. Say, is it you? Or did my hoss +pitch me—and I'm dreamin'—back there on the flat? No. I reckon it's +you all right. I ain't done shakin' yet from the way you come at me +when I rode in. Say, did you git Jim's letter? Why didn't you write +to a guy, and say you was comin'? Reg'lar ole Injun, same as ever. +Quicker 'n a singed bob-cat gittin' off a stove-lid. That Blue Smoke +'way over there? Thought I knowed him. When did they turn you loose +down to El Paso? Ma Bailey was worryin' that they wasn't feedin' you +good. When did you get here? Was you in the gun-fight when The Spider +got bumped off?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete was still gazing at the little round holes in Andy's hat. "Andy, +did you ever try to ride a hoss down the ole mesa trail backwards?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no, you sufferin' coyote! What you drivin' at?" +</P> + +<P> +"Here's your hat. Now if you got anything under it, go ahead and talk +up. Which way did you ride when we split, over by the timber there?" +</P> + +<P> +Andy reached over and put a stick of wood on the fire. "Well, seein' +it's your hat, I reckon you got a right to know how them holes come in +it." And he told Pete of his ride, and how he had misled the posse, +and he spoke jestingly, as though it had been a little thing to do; +hardly worth repeating. Then he told of a ride he had made to Showdown +to let Pete know that Gary would live, and how The Spider had said that +he knew nothing of Pete—had never seen him. And of how Ma Bailey +upheld Pete, despite all local gossip and the lurid newspaper screeds. +And that the boys would be mighty glad to see him again; concluding +with an explanation of his own presence there—that he had been over to +the T-Bar-T to see Houck about some of his stock that had strayed +through some "down-fence"—"She's all fenced now," he explained—and +had run into a bunch of wild turkeys, chased them to a rim-rock and had +managed to shoot one, but had had to climb down a cañon to recover the +bird, which had set him back considerably on his home journey. "And +that there bird is hangin' right on my saddle now!" he concluded. "And +I ain't et since mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we eat," asserted Pete. "You go git that turkey, and I'll do the +rest." +</P> + +<P> +Wild turkey, spitted on a cedar limb and broiled over a wood fire, a +bannock or two with hot coffee in an empty bean-can (Pete insisted on +Andy using the one cup), tastes just a little better than anything else +in the world, especially if one has ridden far in the high country—and +most folk do, before they get the wild turkey. +</P> + +<P> +It was three o'clock when they turned in, to share Pete's one blanket, +and then Andy was too full of Pete's adventures to sleep, asking an +occasional question which Pete answered, until Andy, suddenly recalling +that Pete had told him The Spider had left him his money, asked Pete if +he had packed all that dough with him, or banked it in El Paso. To +which Pete had replied drowsily, "Sure thing, Miss Gray." Whereupon +Andy straightway decided that he would wait till morning before asking +any further questions of an intimate nature. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was strangely quiet the next morning, in fact almost taciturn, and +Andy noticed that he went into the saddle a bit stiffly. "That—where +you got hurt botherin' you, Pete?" he asked with real solicitude. +</P> + +<P> +"Some." And realizing that he had scarcely spoken to his old chum +since they awakened, he asked him many questions about the ranch, and +the boys, as they drifted across the mesa and down the trail that led +to the Concho. +</P> + +<P> +But it was not the twinge of his old wound that made Pete so silent. +He was suffering a disappointment. He had believed sincerely that what +he had been through, in the past six months especially, had changed +him—that he would have to have a mighty stern cause to pull a gun on a +man again; and at the first hint of danger he had been ready to kill. +He wondered if he would ever lose that hunted feeling that had brought +him to his feet and all but crooked his trigger-finger before he had +actually realized what had startled him. But one thing was +certain—Andy would never know just <I>how</I> close he had come to being +killed; Andy, who had joked lightly about his own ride into the desert +with an angry posse trailing him, as he wore Pete's black Stetson, +"that he might give them a good run for their money," he had laughingly +said. +</P> + +<P> +"You're jest the same ornery, yella-headed, blue-eyed singin'-bird you +always was," declared Pete as they slithered along down the trail. +</P> + +<P> +Andy turned in the saddle and grinned at Pete. "Now that you've give +the blessing parson, will you please and go plumb to hell?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt a lot better. +</P> + +<P> +A loose rock slipped from the edge of the trail, and went bounding down +the steep hillside, crashing through a thicket of aspens and landing +with a dull clunk amid a pile of rock that slid a little, and grumbled +sullenly. Blue Smoke had also slipped as his footing gave way +unexpectedly. Pete felt still better. This was something like it! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap45"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLV +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOME FOLKS +</H3> + +<P> +Noon found them within sight of the ranch-house. In an hour they were +unsaddling at the corral, having ridden in the back way, at Andy's +suggestion, that they might surprise the folks. But it did not take them +long to discover that there were no folks to surprise. The bunk-house +was open, but the house across from it was locked, and Andy knew +immediately that the Baileys had driven to town, because the pup was +gone, and he always followed the buckboard. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was not displeased, for he wanted to shave and "slick up a bit" +after his long journey. "They'll see my hoss and know that I'm back," +said Andy, as he filled the kettle on the box-stove in the bunk-house. +"But we can put Blue Smoke in a stall and keep him out of sight till you +walk in right from nowhere. I can see Ma Bailey and Jim and the boys! +'Course Ma's like to be back in time to get supper, so mebby you'll have +to hide out in the barn till you hear the bell." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't awful strong on that conquerin' hero stuff, Andy. I jest as +soon set right here—" +</P> + +<P> +"And spoil the whole darn show! Look here, Pete,—you leave it to me and +if we don't surprise Ma Bailey clean out of her—specs, why, I'll quit +and go to herdin' sheep." +</P> + +<P> +"A11 right. I'm willin'. Only you might see if you kin git in the back +way and lift a piece of pie, or somethin'." Which Andy managed to do +while Pete shaved himself and put on a clean shirt. +</P> + +<P> +They sat in the bunk-house doorway chatting about the various happenings +during Pete's absence until they saw the buckboard top the distant edge +of the mesa. Pete immediately secluded himself in the barn, while Andy +hazed Blue Smoke into a box stall and hid Pete's saddle. +</P> + +<P> +Ma Bailey, alighting from the buckboard, heard Andy's brief explanation +of his absence with indifference most unusual in her, and glanced sharply +at him when he mentioned having shot a wild turkey. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you picked it and cleaned it and got it all ready to roast," +she inquired. "Or have you just been loafing around waiting for me to do +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I et it," asserted Andy. +</P> + +<P> +Ma Bailey glared at him, shook her head, and marched into the house while +Andy helped Bailey put up the horses. +</P> + +<P> +"Ma's upset about somethin'," explained Bailey. "Seems a letter came for +Pete—" +</P> + +<P> +"Letter from Pete! Why, he ain't comin' back, is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"A letter for Pete. Ma says it looks like a lady's writin' on the +envelope. She says she'd like to know what female is writin' to Pete, +and him goodness knows where, and not a word to say whether he's sick or +broke, or anything." +</P> + +<P> +"I sure would like to see him," said Andy fervently. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if somebody's writin' to him here at the Concho, looks like he +might drift in one of these days. I'd sure like to know how the kid's +makin' it." +</P> + +<P> +And Bailey strode to the house, while Andy led the team to the corral. +</P> + +<P> +Later Andy appeared in the kitchen and asked Mrs. Bailey if he couldn't +help her set the table, or peel potatoes, or something. Ma Bailey gazed +at him suspiciously over her glasses. "I don't know what's ailin' you, +Andy, but you ain't actin' right. First you tell me that you had to camp +at the Blue last night account o' killin' a turkey. Then you tell me +that you et the whole of it. Was you scared you wouldn't get your share +if you fetched it home? Then you want to help me get supper. You been +up to something! You just keep me plumb wore out worrying about you. +You ought to be ashamed of yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"For why, Ma? What have I done?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, but it'll come to the top. There's the boys now—and me +a-standing here— Run along and set the table if you ain't so full of +whatever is got into you that you can't count straight. Bill won't be in +to-night. Leastwise, Jim don't expect him." And Ma Bailey flapped her +apron at him and shooed him out as though he were a chicken that had +dared to poke its inquisitive neck into the kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +"Count straight!" chuckled Andy. "Mebby I know more about how many's +here than Ma does." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Ma Bailey busied herself preparing supper, and it was evident +to the boys in the bunkhouse that Ma had something on her mind from the +sounds which came from the kitchen. Ma scolded the potatoes as she fried +them, rebuked the biscuits because they had browned a little too soon, +censured the stove for its misbehavior in having scorched the biscuits, +accused the wood of being a factor in the conspiracy, reprimanded the +mammoth coffee-pot that threatened to deluge the steak, and finally +chased Andy from the premises when she discovered that he had laid the +table with her best set of dishes. +</P> + +<P> +"Ma's steamin' about somethin'," remarked Andy as he entered the +bunk-house. +</P> + +<P> +This information was received with characteristic silence as each and +every cowboy mentally straightened up, vowing silently that he wasn't +goin' to take any chances of Ma b'ilin' over on him. +</P> + +<P> +The clatter of the pack-horse bell brought the men to their feet and they +filed across to the house, a preternaturally silent aggregation that +confirmed Ma Bailey's suspicion that there was something afoot. +</P> + +<P> +Andy, loitering behind them, saw Pete coming from the stables, tried to +compose himself, but could not get rid of the boyish grin, which provoked +Ma Bailey to mutter something which sounded like "idiot," to which the +cowboys nodded in cheerful concurrence, without other comment. +</P> + +<P> +Hank Barley, the silent, was gazing surreptitiously at Ma's face when he +saw her eyes widen, saw her rise, and stand staring at the doorway as +Andy clumped in, followed by Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Ma Bailey sat down suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right, Ma," laughed Andy, alarmed at the expression on her +face. "It's just Pete." +</P> + +<P> +"Just Pete!" echoed Ma Bailey faintly. And then, "Goodness alive, child, +where you been?" +</P> + +<P> +Pete's reply was lost in the shuffle of feet as the men rose and shook +hands with him, asking him a dozen questions in as many seconds, +asserting that he was looking fine, and generally behaving like a crowd +of schoolboys, as they welcomed him to their midst again. +</P> + +<P> +Pete sat in the absent Bill Haskins's place. And "You must 'a' knowed he +was coming" asserted Avery. "Bill is over to the line shack." +</P> + +<P> +"I got a <I>letter</I>," asserted Ma Bailey mysteriously. +</P> + +<P> +"And you jest said nothin' and sprung him on us! Well, Ma, you sure +fooled me," said Andy, grinning. +</P> + +<P> +"You go 'long." Mrs. Bailey smiled at Andy, who had earned her +forgiveness by crediting her—rather wisely—with having originated the +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +They were chatting and joking when Bill Haskins appeared in the door-way, +his hand wrapped in a handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +Ma Bailey glared at him over her spectacles. "Got any stickin'-plaster?" +he asked plaintively, as though he had committed some misdemeanor. She +rose and placed a plate and chair for him as he shook hands with Pete, +led him to the kitchen and inspected and bandaged his hand, which he had +jagged on a wire gate, and finally reinstated him at the table, where he +proved himself quite as efficient as most men are with two hands. "Give +Bill all the coffee he wants and plenty stickin'-plaster, and I reckon he +never would do no work," suggested Hank Barley. +</P> + +<P> +Bill Haskins grinned good-naturedly. "I see Pete's got back," he +ventured, as a sort of mild intimation that there were other subjects +worth discussing. He accompanied this brilliant observation by a modest +request for another cup of coffee, his fourth. The men rose, leaving +Bill engaged in his favorite indoor pastime, and intimated that Pete +should go with them. But Ma Bailey would not bear of it. Pete was going +to help her with the dishes. Andy could go, however, and Bill Haskins, +as soon as he was convinced that the coffee-pot was empty. Ma Bailey's +chief interest in life at the moment was to get the dishes put away, the +men out of the way, and Pete in the most comfortable rocking-chair in the +room, that she might hear his account of how it all happened. +</P> + +<P> +And Pete told her—omitting no circumstance, albeit he did not accentuate +that part of his recital having to do with Doris Gray, merely mentioning +her as "that little gray-eyed nurse in El Paso"—and in such an offhand +manner that Ma Bailey began to suspect that Pete was keeping something to +himself. Finally, by a series of cross-questioning, comment, and +sympathetic concurrence, she arrived at the feminine conclusion that the +gray-eyed nurse in El Paso had set her cap for Pete—of course Pete was +innocent of any such adjustment of headgear—to substantiate which she +rose, and, stepping to the bedroom, returned with the letter which had +caused her so much speculation as to who was writing to Pete, and why the +letter had been directed to the Concho. +</P> + +<P> +Pete glanced at the letter, and thanked Ma Bailey as he tucked it in his +pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mind if you open it, Pete," she told him. "Goodness knows how +long it's been laying in the post-office! And it, mebby, is +important—from that doctor, or that lawyer, mebby. Oh, mebby it's from +the bank. Sakes alive! To think of that man leaving you all that money! +Mebby that bank has failed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'd be right where I started when I first come +here—broke—lookin' for a job." +</P> + +<P> +"And the boys'll worry you most to death if you try to read any letters +in the bunk-house to-night. They're waitin' to hear you talk." +</P> + +<P> +"Guess the letter can wait. I ain't such a fast reader, anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +"And you're like to lose it, carryin' it round." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I—reckon I better read it," stammered Pete helplessly. +</P> + +<P> +He felt somehow that Ma would feel slighted if he didn't. Ma Bailey +watched his face as he read the rather brief note from Doris, thanking +him for his letter to her and congratulating him on the outcome of his +trial, and assuring him of her confidence in his ultimate success in +life. "Little Ruth," wrote Doris, "cried bitterly when I told her that +you had gone and would not come back. She said that when you said +'good-bye' to her you promised to come back—and of course I had to tell +her that you would, just to make her happy. She has lost all interest in +the puzzle game since you left, but that queer watch that you gave her, +that has to be shaken before taken—and then not taken seriously—amuses +her quite a bit. She gets me to wind it up—her fingers are not strong +enough—and then she laughs as the hands race around. When they stop she +puts her finger on the hour and says, 'Pitty soon Pete come back.' +Little Ruth misses you very much." +</P> + +<P> +Pete folded the letter and put it in his pocket. "From a friend of +mine," he said, flushing slightly. +</P> + +<P> +Ma Bailey sighed, smiled, and sighed again. "You're just itching to go +see the boys. Well, run along, and tell Jim not to set up all night." Ma +Bailey rose, and stepping to the bedroom returned with some blankets. +"You'll have your old bunk. It's yours just as long as you want to stay, +Pete. And—and I hope that girl in El Paso—is a—a nice—sensible—" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Ma! What's the matter?—" as Mrs. Bailey blinked and showed +unmistakable signs of emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, Pete. I reckon your coming back so sudden and all you been +through, and that letter, kind of upset me. D-does she powder her face, +Pete?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who? You mean Miss Gray? Why, what would she do that for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Does she wear clothes that—that cost lots of money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Great snakes, Ma! I dunno. I never seen her except in the hospital, +dressed jest like all the nurses." +</P> + +<P> +"Is—is she handsome?" +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Ma, you let me hold them blankets. They're gittin' you all sagged +down. Why, she ain't what I'd say was <I>handsome</I>, but she sure got +pretty eyes and hair—and complexion—and the smoothest little hands—and +she's built right neat. She steps easy—like a thoroughbred filly—and +she's plumb sensible, jest like you folks." +</P> + +<P> +This latter assurance did not seem to comfort Ma Bailey as much as the +implied compliment might intimate. +</P> + +<P> +"And there's only one other woman I ever saw that made me feel right to +home and kind o' glad to have her round, like her. And she's got gray +eyes and the same kind of hair, and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Sakes alive, Pete Annersley! Another?" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. And I'm kissin' her good-night—right now." And Pete grabbed +the blankets and as much of Ma Bailey as could be included in that large +armful, and kissed her heartily. +</P> + +<P> +"He's changed," Ma Bailey confided to herself, after Pete had +disappeared. "Actin' like a boy—to cheer me up. But it weren't no boy +that set there readin' that letter. It was a growed man, and no wonder. +Yes, Pete's changed, bless his heart!" +</P> + +<P> +Ma Bailey did not bless Pete's heart because he had changed, however, nor +because he had suffered, nor yet because he was unconsciously in love +with a little nurse in El Paso, nor yet because he kissed her, but +because she liked him: and because no amount of money or misfortune, +blame or praise, could really change him toward his friends. What Ma +Bailey meant was that he had grown a little more serious, a little more +gentle in his manner of addressing her—aside from saying good-night—and +a little more intense in a quiet way. To sum it all up, Pete had just +begun to think—something that few people do on the verdant side of +forty, and rather dread having to do on the other side of that mile-post. +</P> + +<P> +A week later, as they sat at table asking one another whether Ma Bailey +had took to makin' pies ag'in jest for practice or for Pete, and plaguing +that good woman considerably with their good-natured banter, it occurred +to Bill Haskins to ask Pete if he were going to become a permanent member +of the family or if he were simply visiting; only Bill said, "Are you +aimin' to throw in with us—or are you goin' to curl your tail and drift, +when the snow flies?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon I'll drift," said Pete. +</P> + +<P> +This was news. Andy White demurred forcibly. Bailey himself seemed +surprised, and even old Hank Barley, the silent, expressed himself as +mildly astonished. +</P> + +<P> +"We figured you'd stay till after the round-up, anyhow," said Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +"Reckon it's too tame for Pete here," growled Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"That's no fault of yours, Andrew," observed Ma Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +"You're always peckin' at me," grumbled Andy, who detested being called +"Andrew" quite as much as that robust individual known to his friends as +Bill detests being called "Willie"—and Ma Bailey knew it. +</P> + +<P> +"So you aim to leave us," said Haskins, quite unaware of Ma Bailey's eye +which glared disapproval of the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Pete's going—next Tuesday—and just to set your mind at rest and give +you a chance to eat your supper"—Bill had been doing scarcely anything +else since he sat down—"Pete has a right good reason to go." +</P> + +<P> +"Kin I have another cup of coffee?" queried Bill. +</P> + +<P> +"Sakes alive, yes! I reckon that's what's ailing you." +</P> + +<P> +"I only had three, Ma." +</P> + +<P> +"Pete is going away <I>on business</I>," asserted Ma Bailey. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh," snorted Andy. +</P> + +<P> +Bailey glanced at his wife, who telegraphed to him to change the subject. +And that good man, who had been married twenty-five years, changed the +subject immediately. +</P> + +<P> +But Andy did not let it drop. After supper he cornered Pete in the +bunk-house, and following some wordy fencing, ascertained that Pete was +going to Tucson for the winter to get an education. Pete blushingly +admitted that that was his sole intent, swore Andy to secrecy, and told +him that he had discussed the subject with Ma Bailey, who had advised him +to go. +</P> + +<P> +"So you're quittin' the game," mourned Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope, jest beginnin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you might 'a' said somethin', anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +Pete put his hand on Andy's shoulder. "I wa'n't sure—till yesterday. I +<I>was</I> goin' to tell <I>you</I>, Andy. Shucks! Didn't I tell you about the +money and everything—and you didn't say a word to the boys. I ain't +forgittin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I knowed havin' money wouldn't swell you up. It ain't that. Only, +I was wonderin'—" +</P> + +<P> +"So was I, Andy. And I been wonderin' for quite a spell. Come on out +and let's go set on the corral bars and smoke and—jest smoke." +</P> + +<P> +But they did more than just smoke. The Arizona stars shot wondrous +shafts of white fire through the nipping air as the chums sensed the +comfortable companionship of horses moving slowly about the corral; and +they heard the far, faint call of the coyote as a drift of wind brought +the keen tang of the distant timberlands. They talked together as only +youth may talk with youth, when Romance lights the trail, when the heart +speaks from itself to heart in sympathy. Yet their chat was not without +humor or they would not have been Pete and Andy. +</P> + +<P> +"You always was a wise one," asserted Andy; "pickin' out a professional +nurse for <I>your</I> girl ain't a bad idee." +</P> + +<P> +"I had a whole lot to do with pickin' her out, didn't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you can't make me believe that she did the pickin', for you was +tellin' me she had good eyes." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon it was the Doc that did the pickin',"' suggested Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I suppose the next thing you'll be givin' the preacher a chanct." +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. Next thing I'll be givin' Miss Gray a chanct to tell me I'm a +doggone idiot—only she don't talk like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it'll be because she don't know you like I do. But you're lucky— +No tellin'—" Andy climbed down from the bars. +</P> + +<P> +"No tellin' what?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"No tellin' you how much I sure want you to win, pardner—because you +know it." +</P> + +<P> +Pete leapt from the top rail square on to Andy, who, taken off his guard, +toppled and fell. They rolled over and over, not even trying to miss the +puddle of water beside the drinking-trough. Andy managed to get his free +hand in the mud and thought of feeding some of it to Pete, but Pete was +too quick for him, squirming loose and making for the bunkhouse at top +speed. +</P> + +<P> +Pete entrenched himself in the far corner of the room where Bill Haskins +was reading a novel,—exceedingly popular, if the debilitated condition +of the pages and covers were any criterion,—when Andy entered, holding +one hand behind him in a suspicious manner. Pete wondered what was +coming when it came. Andy swung his arm and plugged a fair-sized +mud-ball at Pete, which missed him and hit the innocent and unsuspecting +Bill on the ear, and stayed there. Bill Haskins, who was at the moment +helping the hero hold a spirited pair of horses while the heroine climbed +to a seat in the romantic buckboard, promptly pulled on the reins and +shouted "Whoa!" and the debilitated novel came apart in his hands with a +soft, ripping sound. It took Bill several seconds to think of something +to say, and several more to realize just what had happened. He opened +his mouth—but Andy interrupted with "Honest, Bill, I wasn't meanin' to +hit you. I was pluggin' at Pete, there. It was his fault; he went and +hid out behind you. Honest, Bill—wait and I'll help you dig that there +mud out of your ear." +</P> + +<P> +Bill shook his head and growled as he scraped the mud from his face and +neck. Andy, gravely solicitous, helped to remove the mud and +affectionately wiped his fingers in Bill's hair. +</P> + +<P> +"Here—what in hell you doin'!" snorted Bill. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right! I was forgittin'! Honest, Bill!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll honest you! I'll give you somethin' to forgit." But Andy did not +wait. +</P> + +<P> +A little later Bill appeared at the kitchen door and plaintively asked Ma +Bailey if she had any sticking-plaster. +</P> + +<P> +"Sakes alive! Now what you done to yourself, William?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' this time, Miss Bailey. I—I done tore a book—and jest want to +fix it." +</P> + +<P> +When Bill returned to the bunk-house with the "sticking-plaster," Pete +and Andy both said they were sorry for the occurrence, but Bill was +mighty suspicious of their sincerity. They were silent while Bill +laboriously patched up the book and settled himself to take up the reins +where he had dropped them. The heroine had just taken her seat beside +the driver—when— "It's a darned shame!" said a voice, Pete's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"It sure is—and Bill jest learnin' to read. He might 'a' spelled out a +whole page afore mornin'." +</P> + +<P> +"I wa'n't meanin' Bill," asserted Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you won't bother Bill none. He can't hear you. His off ear is full +of mud. Go on and say anything you like about him." +</P> + +<P> +Bill slowly laid down his book, stepped to his bunk, and drew his +six-shooter from its holster. He marched back to the table and laid the +gun quite handy to him, and resumed his chair. +</P> + +<P> +Bill Haskins was long-suffering—but both Andy and Pete realized that it +was high time to turn their bright particular talents in some other +direction. So they undressed and turned in. They had been asleep an +hour or two before Bill closed his book regretfully, picked up his gun, +and walked to his bunk. He stood for a moment gazing at Andy, and then +turned to gaze at Pete. Then he shook his head—and a slow smile lighted +his weathered face. For despite defunct mountain lions, bent nails, and +other sundries, Bill Haskins liked Andy and Pete—and he knew if it came +to a test of friendship that either of them would stand by him to the +last dollar, or the last shot even, as he would have gladly done to help +them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap46"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XLVI +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER +</H3> + +<P> +The first thing Pete did when he arrived in Tucson was to purchase a +suit as near like that which he had seen Andover wear as possible. +Pete's Stetson was discarded for a soft felt of ordinary dimensions. +He bought shoes, socks, and some underwear, which the storekeeper +assured him was the latest thing, but which Pete said "looked more like +chicken-wire than honest-to-Gosh cloth," and fortified by his new and +inconspicuous apparel, he called on the principal of the high school +and told him just why he had come to Tucson. "And I'd sure look queer +settin' in with all the kids," Pete concluded. "If there's any way of +my ketchin' up to my size, why, I reckon I kin pay." +</P> + +<P> +The principal thought it might be arranged. For instance, he would be +glad to give Pete—he said Mr. Annersley—an introduction to an +instructor, a young Eastern scholar, who could possibly spare three or +four evenings a week for private lessons. Progress would depend +entirely upon Pete's efforts. Many young men had studied that +way—some of them even without instruction. Henry Clay, for instance, +and Lincoln. And was Mr. Annersley thinking of continuing with his +studies and entering college, or did he merely wish to become +conversant with the fundamentals? +</P> + +<P> +"If I kin git so I can throw and hog-tie some of them fundamentals +without losin' my rope, I reckon I'll be doin' all I set out to do. +No—I guess I'd never make a top-hand, ridin' for you. But my rope is +tied to the horn—and I sure aim to stay with whatever I git my loop +on." +</P> + +<P> +"I get your drift—and I admire your purpose. Incidentally and +speaking from a distinctly impersonal—er—viewpoint" (no doubt a +high-school principal may speak from a viewpoint, or even sit on one if +he cares to), "your colloquialisms are delightful—and sufficiently +forceful to leave no doubt as to your sincerity of purpose." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' you sabe what I'm gittin' at, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +The principal nodded and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought that was what you was tryin' to say. Well, professor—" +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Wheeler, if you please." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Doc. But I didn't know you was a doc too." +</P> + +<P> +"Doctor of letters, merely." +</P> + +<P> +Pete suspected that he was being joked with, but the principal's manner +was quite serious. "If you will give me your address, I will drop a +line to Mr. Forbes," said the principal. +</P> + +<P> +Pete gave his name and address. As Principal Wheeler wrote them down +in his notebook he glanced up at Pete curiously. "You don't happen to +be the young man—er—similarity of names—who was mixed up in that +shooting affair in El Paso? Name seemed familiar. No doubt a +coincidence." +</P> + +<P> +"It wa'n't no coincidence—it was a forty-five," stated Pete. +</P> + +<P> +The principal stared at Pete as though he half-expected to see him pull +a gun and demand an education instanter. But Pete's smile helped the +principal to pull himself together. "Most extraordinary!" he +exclaimed. "I believe the courts exonerated you?" +</P> + +<P> +"That ain't all they did to me," Pete assured him. "Nope. You got +that wrong. But I reckon they would 'a' done it—if I hadn't 'a' hired +that there lawyer from El Paso. He sure exonerated a couple o' +thousand out o' me. And the judge turned me loose." +</P> + +<P> +"Most extraordinary!" +</P> + +<P> +"It was that lawyer that told me I ought to git a education," exclaimed +Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course! Of course! I had forgotten it for the moment. Well, here +is Mr. Forbes's address. I think you will find him at his room almost +any evening." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be there!" +</P> + +<P> +"Very good! I suppose you are aware that it is illegal to carry +concealed weapons inside the city limits?" +</P> + +<P> +"I get you, Doc, but I ain't packin' a gun, nohow." +</P> + +<P> +As the weeks went by and the winter sun swung farther south, Mr. +Forbes, the young Eastern scholar, and Pete began to understand each +other. Pete, who had at first considered the young Easterner affected, +and rather effeminate, slowly realized that he was mistaken. Forbes +was a sincere and manly fellow, who had taken his share of hard knocks +and who suffered ill health uncomplainingly—an exile of his chosen +environment, with little money and scarce a companion to share his +loneliness. +</P> + +<P> +As for Forbes, he envied Pete his abundant health and vigor and admired +his unspoiled enthusiasm. Pete's humor, which somehow suggested to +Forbes the startling and inexplicable antics of a healthy colt, melted +Forbes's diffidence, and they became friends and finally chums. Pete +really learned as much through this intimacy as he did from his books: +perhaps more. It was at Pete's suggestion that Forbes took to riding a +horse, and they spent many afternoons on the desert, drifting slowly +along while they discussed different phases of life. +</P> + +<P> +These discussions frequently led to argument, sincere on Pete's part, +who never realized that Forbes's chief delight in life was to get Pete +started, that he might enjoy Pete's picturesque illustration of the +point, which, more often than not, was shrewdly sharp and convincing. +No amount of argument, no matter how fortified by theory and example, +could make Pete change his attitude toward life; but he eventually came +to see life from a different angle, his vision broadening to a wider +perspective as they climbed together, Forbes loitering on familiar +ground that Pete might not lose the trail and find himself entangled in +some unessential thicket by the way. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Forbes was not looking well. His thin face was pinched; his eyes were +listless. Pete thought that Forbes stayed indoors too much. "Why +don't you go get a cayuse and ride?" he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"Never was on a horse in my life." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh. Well, you been off one too long." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to. But I can't afford it." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean to buy a horse—jest hire one, from the livery. I was +thinkin' of gettin' out on the dry-spot myself. I'm plumb sick of +town." +</P> + +<P> +"You would have to teach me." +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks! There's nothin' to learn. All you got to do is to fork your +cayuse and ride. I'd sure be glad to go with you." +</P> + +<P> +"That's nice of you. Well, say to-morrow afternoon, then. But what +about horses?" +</P> + +<P> +"We got a session to-morrow. What's the matter with this afternoon? +The sun's shinin', and there ain't much wind, and I can smell the ole +desert, a-sizzlin'. Come on!" +</P> + +<P> +They were in Forbes's room. The Easterner laid his book aside and +glanced down at his shoes. "I haven't a riding-costume." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you can get one for a dollar and four-bits—copper-riveted, and +sure easy and comfortable. I'll lend you a pair of boots." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I'll try it once, at least." +</P> + +<P> +Forbes felt rather conspicuous in the stiff new overalls, rolled up at +the bottom, over Pete's tight high-heeled boots, but nobody paid any +attention to him as he stumped along beside Pete, on the way to the +livery. +</P> + +<P> +Pete chose the horses, and a saddle for Forbes, to whom he gave a few +brief pointers anent the art of swinging up and dismounting. They set +out and headed for the open. Forbes was at first nervous; but as +nothing happened, he forgot his nervousness and gave himself to gazing +at the great sun-swept spaces until the horses broke into a trot, when +he turned his entire attention to the saddle-horn, clinging to it +affectionately with his free hand. +</P> + +<P> +Pete pulled up. "Say, amigo, it's ag'inst the rules to choke that +there horn to death. Jest let go and clamp your knees. We'll lope 'em +a spell." +</P> + +<P> +Forbes was about to protest when Pete's horse, to which he had +apparently done nothing, broke into a lope. Forbes's horse followed. +It was a rough experience for the Easterner, but he enjoyed it until +Pete pulled up suddenly. Forbes's own animal stopped abruptly, but +Forbes, grabbing wildly at the horn, continued, and descended in a +graceful curve which left him sitting on the sand and blinking up at +the astonished animal. +</P> + +<P> +"Hurt you?" queried Pete. +</P> + +<P> +"I think not— But it was rather sudden. Now what do I do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, when you git rested up, I'd say to fork him ag'in. He's sure +tame." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I thought he was rather wild," stammered Forbes, getting to his +feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. It was you was wild. I reckon you like to scared him to death. +Nope! Git on him from this side." +</P> + +<P> +"He seems a rather intelligent animal," commented Forbes as he prepared +for the worst. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we kin call him that, seein' there's nobody round to hear us. +We'll walk 'em a spell." +</P> + +<P> +Forbes felt relieved. And realizing that he was still alive and +uninjured, he relaxed a bit. After they had turned and headed for +town, he actually enjoyed himself. +</P> + +<P> +Next day he was so stiff and sore that he could scarcely walk, but his +eye was brighter. However, he begged off from their proposed ride the +following afternoon. Pete said nothing; but when the next riding +afternoon arrived, a week later, Forbes was surprised to see Pete, +dressed in his range clothes. Standing near the curb were two horses, +saddled and bridled. "Git on your jeans and those ole boots of mine. +I fetched along a extra pair of spurs." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Annersley—" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't ride 'em both." +</P> + +<P> +"It's nice of you—but really, I can't afford it." +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, Doc, what you can't afford is to set in that room a-readin' +all day. And the horse don't cost you a cent. I had a talk with the +old-timer that runs the livery, and when he seen I was onto my job, he +was plumb tickled to death for me to exercise the horses. One of 'em +needs a little educatin'." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right. But how about my horse?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I brought him along to keep the other horse company. I can't +handle 'em both. Ain't you goin' to help me out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if you put it that way, I will this time." +</P> + +<P> +"Now you're talkin' sense." +</P> + +<P> +Several weeks later they were again riding out on the desert and +enjoying that refreshing and restful companionship which is best +expressed in silence, when Pete, who had been gazing into the distance, +pulled up his restive horse and sat watching a moving something that +suddenly disappeared. Forbes glanced at Pete, who turned and nodded as +if acknowledging the other's unspoken question. They rode on. +</P> + +<P> +A half-hour later, as they pulled up at the edge of the arroyo, Forbes +was startled by Pete's "Hello, neighbor!" to an apparently empty world. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the joke?" queried Forbes. +</P> + +<P> +The joke appeared suddenly around the bend in the arroyo—a big, +weather-bitten joke astride of a powerful horse. Forbes uttered an +exclamation as the joke whipped out a gun and told them to "Put 'em +up!" in a tone which caused Forbes's hands to let go the reins and rise +head-high without his having realized that he had made a movement. +Pete was also picking invisible peaches from the air, which further +confirmed Forbes's hasty conclusion that they were both doing the right +thing. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I ain't got a gun on me, Ed.</I>" Pete had spoken slowly and +distinctly, and apparently without the least shadow of trepidation. +Forbes, gazing at the grim, bronzed face of the strange horseman, +nervously echoed Pete's statement. Before the Easterner could realize +what had actually happened, Pete and the strange rider had dismounted +and were shaking hands: a transition so astonishing that Forbes forgot +to lower his hands and sat with them nervously aloft as though +imploring the Rain-God not to forget his duty to mankind. +</P> + +<P> +Pete and the stranger were talking. Forbes could catch an occasional +word, such as "The Spider—El +Paso—White-Eye—Hospital—Sonora—Sanborn—Sam Brent—" +</P> + +<P> +Pete turned and grinned. "I reckon you can let go the—your holt, Doc. +This here is a friend of mine." +</P> + +<P> +Forbes sighed thankfully. He was introduced to the friend, whom Pete +called Ed, but whose name had been suddenly changed to Bill. "We used +to ride together," explained Pete. +</P> + +<P> +Forbes tactfully withdrew, realizing that whatever they had to talk +about was more or less confidential. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Pete approached Forbes and asked him if he had any money with +him. Forbes had five dollars and some small change. "I'm borrowin' +this till to-morrow," said Pete, as he dug into his own pocket, and +without counting the sum total, gave it to the stranger. +</P> + +<P> +Brevoort stuffed the money in his pocket and swung to his horse. "You +better ride in with us a ways," suggested Pete. "The young fella don't +know anything about you—and he won't talk if I pass the word to him. +Then I kin go on ahead and fetch back some grub and some more dineros." +</P> + +<P> +Forbes found the stranger rather interesting as they rode back toward +Tucson; for he spoke of Mexico and affairs below the line—amazing +things to speak of in such an offhand manner—in an impersonal and +interesting way. +</P> + +<P> +Within two miles of the town they drew up. "Bill, here," explained +Pete, "is short of grub. Now, if you don't mind keepin' him company, +why, I'll fan it in and git some. I'll be back right soon." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all! Go ahead!" Forbes wanted to hear more of first-hand +experiences south of the line. Forbes, who knew something of Pete's +history, shrewdly suspected that the stranger called "Bill" had a good +reason to ride wide of Tucson—although the Easterner did not quite +understand why Pete should ride into town alone. But that was merely +incidental. +</P> + +<P> +It was not until Pete had returned and the stranger had departed, +taking his way east across the desert, that Pete offered an +explanation—a rather guarded explanation, Forbes realized—of the +recent happenings. "Bill's keepin' out on the desert for his health," +said Pete. "And, if anybody should ask us, I reckon we ain't seen him." +</P> + +<P> +"I think I understand," said Forbes. +</P> + +<P> +And Forbes, recalling the event many months later, after Pete had left +Tucson, thought none the less of Pete for having helped an old friend +out of difficulties. Forbes was himself more than grateful to +Pete—for with the riding three times a week and Pete's robust +companionship, he had regained his health to an extent far beyond his +hopes. +</P> + +<P> +Pete rejected sixteen of the seventeen plans he had made that winter +for his future, often guided by what he read in the occasional letters +from Doris, wherein he found some rather practical suggestions—for he +wrote frankly of his intent to better himself, but wisely refrained +from saying anything that might be interpreted as more than friendship. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Pete had not planned to go to El Paso quite as soon as he did; and it +was because of an unanswered letter that he went. He had written early +in March and it was now May—and no reply. +</P> + +<P> +If he had waited a few days longer, it is possible that he would not +have gone at all, for passing him as he journeyed toward Texas was a +letter from Doris Gray in which she intimated that she thought their +correspondence had better cease, and for the reason—which she did not +intimate—that she was a bit afraid that Pete would come to El Paso, +and stay in El Paso until she had either refused to see him—it was +significant that she thought of refusing to see him, for he was +actually worth looking at—or until he had asked her a question to +which there was but one answer, and that was "no." Just why Doris +should have taken it for granted that he would ask her that question is +a matter which she never explained, even to herself. Pete had never +made love to her in the accepted sense of the term. He had done much +better than that, although he was entirely unconscious of it. But that +psychological moment—whatever that may mean—in the affairs of Doris +and Pete was rapidly approaching,—a moment more often anticipated by +the female of the species than by the male. +</P> + +<P> +Just what kept Pete from immediately rushing to the hospital and +proclaiming his presence is another question that never can be +answered. Pete wanted to do just that thing—but he did not. Instead, +he took a modest room at a modest hotel, bought himself some +presentable clothing, dropped in to see Hodges of the Stockmen's +Security, and spent several days walking about the streets mentally +preparing himself to explain just why he <I>had</I> come to El Paso, finally +arriving at the conclusion that he had come to see little Ruth. Doris +had said that Ruth had missed him. Well, he had a right to drop in and +see the kid. And he reckoned it was nobody's business if he did. +</P> + +<P> +He had avoided going near the General Hospital in his strolls about +town, viewing that building from a safe distance and imagining all +sorts of things. Perhaps Miss Gray had left. Perhaps she was ill. Or +she might have married! Still, she would have told him, he thought. +</P> + +<P> +Doris never knew what a struggle it cost Pete—to say nothing of hard +cash—to purchase that bottle of perfume. But he did it, marching into +a drug-store and asking for a bottle of "the best they had," and paying +for it without a quiver. Back in his room he emptied about half of the +bottle on his handkerchief, wedged the handkerchief into his pocket, +and marched to the street, determination in his eye, and the fumes of +half a vial of Frangipanni floating in his wake. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps the Frangipanni stimulated him. Perhaps the overdose deadened +his decision to stay away from the hospital. In any event, that +afternoon he betook himself to the hospital, and was fortunate in +finding Andover there, to whom he confided the obvious news that he was +in town—and that he would like to see little Ruth for a minute, if it +was all right. +</P> + +<P> +Andover told him that little Ruth had been taken to her home a month +ago—and Pete wondered how she could still miss him, as Miss Gray had +intimated in her last letter. And as he wondered he saw light—not a +great light, but a faint ray which was reflected in his face as he +asked Andover when Miss Gray would be relieved from duty, and if it +would be possible to see her then. +</P> + +<P> +Andover thought it might be possible, and suggested that he let Miss +Gray know of Pete's presence; but some happy instinct caused Pete to +veto that suggestion. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't important," he told Andover. "I'll jest mosey around about +six, and step in for a minute. Don't you say I'm in town!" +</P> + +<P> +Andover gazed curiously after Pete as the latter marched out. The +surgeon shook his head. Mixed drinks were not new to Andover, but he +could not for the life of him recognize what Pete had been drinking. +</P> + +<P> +Doris, who had not been thinking of Pete at all,—as she was not a +spiritualist, and had always doubted that affinities were other than +easy excuses for uneasy morals,—came briskly down the hospital steps, +gowned in a trim gray skirt and a jacket, and a jaunty turban that hid +just enough of her brown hair to make that which was visible the more +alluring. She almost walked into Pete—for, as it has been stated, she +was not thinking of him at all, but of the cozy evening she would spend +with her sister at the latter's apartments on High Street. +Incidentally Doris was thinking, just a little, of how well her gown +and turban became her, for she had determined never to let herself +become frowsy and slipshod—Well—she had not to look far for her +antithesis. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Mr. Annersley!" +</P> + +<P> +Pete flushed, the victim of several emotions. "Good-evenin', Miss +Gray. I—I thought I'd jest step in and say 'Hello' to that little +kid." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Ruth?" And Doris flushed just the least bit herself. "Why, +little Ruth is not here now." +</P> + +<P> +"Shucks! Well, I'm right glad you are! Was you goin' somewhere?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Out to my sister's on High Street." +</P> + +<P> +"I only been in town two or three days, so I don't know jest where High +Street is, but I reckon I could find my way back all right." And Pete +so far forgot the perfume as to smile in his old, boyish way. +</P> + +<P> +Doris did some rapid mental calculation and concluded that her +latest—or rather her last—letter had just about arrived in Tucson, +and of course Pete had not read it. That made matters a little +difficult. But there was no reason in the world why he should not walk +with her to her sister's. +</P> + +<P> +Pete saw no reason why he should not, either, but rather a very +attractive reason why he should. +</P> + +<P> +Without further word they turned and walked down the street, Doris +wondering what in the world had induced Pete to immerse himself in +Frangipanni, and Pete wondering if there was ever a prettier girl in +the world than Doris Gray. +</P> + +<P> +And because Pete wanted to talk about something entirely impersonal, he +at once began to ask her what she thought of his latest plan, which was +to purchase an interest in the Concho, spend his summers working with +the men and his winters in Tucson, studying with Forbes about whom he +had written to her. +</P> + +<P> +Doris thought it was a splendid plan. She was sure—quite +impersonally—that he would make a success of anything he attempted. +</P> + +<P> +Pete was not so sure, and he told her so. She joked him for doubting +himself. He promptly told her that he didn't doubt himself for a +minute, but that he did doubt the willingness of the person whom he +hoped to make a partner in the venture. +</P> + +<P> +"Not Mr. Forbes?" she queried, glancing quickly at Pete's serious face. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope. It's you." +</P> + +<P> +They walked another block without speaking; then they walked still +another. And they had begun to walk still another when Pete suddenly +pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in the gutter. +"That doggone perfume is chokin' me to death!" he blurted. And Doris, +despite herself, smiled. +</P> + +<P> +They were out where the streets were more open and quiet now. The sun +was close to the edge of the desert, far in the west. Doris's hand +trembled just the least bit as she turned to say "good-night." They +had stopped in front of a house, near the edge of town. Pete's face +was a bit pale; his dark eyes were intense and gloomy. +</P> + +<P> +Quite unconscious of what he was doing, he pulled out his watch—a new +watch that possessed no erratic tendencies. Suddenly Doris thought of +Pete's old watch, and of little Ruth's extreme delight in its +irresponsible hands whirling madly around, and of that night when Pete +had been brought to the hospital. Suddenly there were two tears +trembling on her lashes, and her hand faltered. Then, being a sensible +person, she laughed away her emotion, for the time being, and invited +Pete in to supper. +</P> + +<P> +Pete thought Doris's sister a mighty nice girl, plumb sensible and not +a bit stuck up. And later, when this "plumb sensible" person declared +that she was rather tired and excused herself and disappeared, after +bidding Pete good-night, he knew that she was a sensible person. He +couldn't see how she could help it, being the sister of Doris. +</P> + +<P> +"So I'll be sayin' good-night," stated Pete a few minutes later, as he +stood by the door, proud and straight and as vital as a flame. +</P> + +<P> +But he didn't say it, at least coherently. Doris's hand was on his +sleeve. Pete thought she had a mighty pretty hand. And as for her +eyes—they were gray and misty and warm … and not at all like he +had ever seen them before. He laughed happily, "You look plumb +lonesome!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I was." +</P> + +<P> +Pete dropped his hat, but he did not know it until, well—several +minutes later, when Doris gave it to him. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was close to midnight when a solitary policeman, passing down a side +street, heard a nocturnal singer inform dark and empty High Street that +he was +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "The Ridin' Kid from Powder River,"— +</P> + +<P> +with other more or less interesting details. +</P> + +<P> +Pete felt a hand on his shoulder. "You better cut that out!" said the +officer. +</P> + +<P> +Pete whirled and his hand flickered toward his hip. "You go plumb +to—" Pete hesitated. The officer sniffed suspiciously. Pete +grinned—then proffered his hand with irresistible enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure I'll cut it out." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +The Riverside Press +<BR><BR> +Cambridge, Massachusetts +<BR><BR> +U.S.A. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ridin' Kid from Powder River +by Henry Herbert Knibbs + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER *** + +***** This file should be named 16530-h.htm or 16530-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/3/16530/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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. 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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: The Ridin' Kid from Powder River + +Author: Henry Herbert Knibbs + +Illustrator: Stanley L. Wood and R. M. Brinkerhoff + +Release Date: August 14, 2005 [EBook #16530] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: The Ridin' Kid] + + + + + + +THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER + + +_By_ + +HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS + + + + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + +BOSTON AND NEW YORK. + +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + +1919 + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I. YOUNG PETE + II. FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES + III. A WARNING + IV. JUSTICE + V. A CHANGE OF BASE + VI. NEW VISTAS + VII. PLANS + VIII. SOME BOOKKEEPING + IX. ROWDY--AND BLUE SMOKE + X. "TURN HIM LOOSE!" + XI. POP ANNERSLEY'S BOY + XII. IN THE PIT + XIII. GAME + XIV. THE KITTY-CAT + XV. FOUR MEN + XVI. THE OPEN HOLSTER + XVII. A FALSE TRAIL + XVIII. THE BLACK SOMBRERO + XIX. THE SPIDER + XX. BULL MALVEY + XXI. BOCA DULZURA + XXII. "A DRESS--OR A RING--PERHAPS" + XXIII. THE DEVIL-WIND + XXIV. "A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR" + XXV. "PLANTED--OUT THERE" + XXVI. THE OLLA + XXVII. OVER THE LINE + XXVIII. A GAMBLE + XXIX. QUERY + XXX. BRENT'S MISTAKE + XXXI. FUGITIVE + XXXII. EL PASO + XXXIII. THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT + XXXIV. DORIS + XXXV. "CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME" + XXXVI. WHITE-EYE + XXXVII. "CLOSE THE CASES" + XXXVIII. GETTING ACQUAINTED + XXXIX. A PUZZLE GAME + XL. THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS + XLI. "A LAND FAMILIAR" + XLII. "OH, SAY TWO THOUSAND" + XLIII. A NEW HAT--A NEW TRAIL + XLIV. THE OLD TRAIL + XLV. HOME FOLKS + XLVI. THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +THE RIDIN' KID . . . . _Colored Frontispiece_ + +_Drawn by Stanley L. Wood_ + + + +"SAY, AIN'T WE PARDNERS?" + +PETE + +COTTON HEARD PETE'S HAND STRIKE THE BUTT OF HIS GUN + AS THE HOLSTER TILTED UP + +"OF A TRUTH, NO!" SAID BOCA, AND SHE SWUNG THE BOTTLE + + +_Drawn by R. M. Brinkerhoff_ + + + + +The Ridin' Kid from Powder River + + +CHAPTER I + +YOUNG PETE + +With the inevitable pinto or calico horse in his string the +horse-trader drifted toward the distant town of Concho, accompanied by +a lazy cloud of dust, a slat-ribbed dog, and a knock-kneed foal that +insisted on getting in the way of the wagon team. Strung out behind +this indolently moving aggregation of desert adventurers plodded an +indifferent lot of cayuses, their heads lowered and their eyes filled +with dust. + +Young Pete, perched on a saddle much too large for him, hazed the tired +horses with a professional "Hi! Yah! Git in there, you doggone, +onnery, three-legged pole-cat you!" A gratuitous command, for the +three-legged pole-cat referred to had no other ambition than to shuffle +wearily along behind the wagon in the hope that somewhere ahead was +good grazing, water, and chance shade. + +The trader was lean, rat-eyed, and of a vicious temper. Comparatively, +the worst horse in his string was a gentleman. Horse-trading and +whiskey go arm-in-arm, accompanied by their copartners, profanity and +tobacco-chewing. In the right hand of the horse-trader is guile and in +his left hand is trickery. And this squalid, slovenly-booted, and +sombrero'd gentleman of the outlands lived down to and even beneath all +the vicarious traditions of his kind, a pariah of the waste places, +tolerated in the environs of this or that desert town chiefly because +of Young Pete, who was popular, despite the fact that he bartered +profanely for chuck at the stores, picketed the horses in pasturage +already preempted by the natives, watered the horses where water was +scarce and for local consumption only, and lied eloquently as to the +qualities of his master's caviayard when a trade was in progress. For +these manful services Young Pete received scant rations and much abuse. + +Pete had been picked up in the town of Enright, where no one seemed to +have a definite record of his immediate ancestry. He was quite willing +to go with the trader, his only stipulation being that he be allowed to +bring along his dog, another denizen of Enright whose ancestry was as +vague as were his chances of getting a square meal a day. Yet the dog, +despite lean rations, suffered less than Young Pete, for the dog +trusted no man. Consequently he was just out of reach when the trader +wanted to kick something. Young Pete was not always so fortunate. But +he was not altogether unhappy. He had responsibilities, especially +when the trader was drunk and the horses needed attention. Pete +learned much profanity without realizing its significance. He also +learned to chew tobacco and realized its immediate significance. He +mastered the art, however, and became in his own estimation a man +grown--a twelve-year-old man who could swear, chew, and show horses to +advantage when the trader could not, because the horses were not afraid +of Young Pete. + +When Pete got kicked or cuffed he cursed the trader heartily. Once, +after a brutal beating, Young Pete backed to the wagon, pulled the +rifle from beneath the seat, and threatened to kill the trader. After +that the rifle was never left loaded. In his tough little heart Pete +hated his master, but he liked the life, which offered much variety and +promised no little romance of a kind. + +Pete had barely existed for twelve years. When the trader came along +with his wagon and ponies and cajoled Pete into going with him, Pete +gladly turned his face toward wider horizons and the great adventure. +Yet for him the great adventure was not to end in the trading of horses +and drifting from town to town all his life. + +Old man Annersley held down a quarter-section on the Blue Mesa chiefly +because he liked the country. Incidently he gleaned a living by hard +work and thrift. His homestead embraced the only water for miles in +any direction, water that the upland cattlemen had used from time +immemorial. When Annersley fenced this water he did a most natural and +necessary thing. He had gathered together a few head of cattle, some +chickens, two fairly respectable horses, and enough timber to build a +comfortable cabin. He lived alone, a gentle old hermit whose hand was +clean to every man, and whose heart was tender to all living things +despite many hard years in desert and range among men who dispensed +such law as there was with a quick forefinger and an uncompromising +eye. His gray hairs were honorable in that he had known no wastrel +years. Nature had shaped him to a great, rugged being fitted for the +simplicity of mountain life and toil. He had no argument with God and +no petty dispute with man. What he found to do he did heartily. The +horse-trader, camped near Concho, came to realize this. + +Old man Annersley was in need of a horse. One of his team had died +that winter. So he unhooked the pole from the buckboard, rigged a pair +of shafts, and drove to Concho, where he heard of the trader and +finally located that worthy drinking at Tony's Place. Young Pete, as +usual, was in camp looking after the stock. The trader accompanied +Annersley to the camp. Young Pete, sniffing a customer, was +immediately up and doing. Annersley inspected the horses and finally +chose a horse which Young Pete roped with much swagger and unnecessary +language, for the horse was gentle, and quite familiar with Young +Pete's professional vocabulary. + +"This here animal is sound, safe, and a child could ride him," asserted +Young Pete as he led the languid and underfed pony to the wagon. "He's +got good action." Pete climbed to the wagon-wheel and mounted +bareback. "He don't pitch, bite, kick, or balk." The horse, used to +being shown, loped a few yards, turned and trotted back. "He +neck-reins like a cow-hoss," said Pete, "and he can turn in a ten-cent +piece. You can rope from him and he'll hold anything you git your rope +on." + +"Reckon he would," said Annersley, and his eyes twinkled. "'Specially +a hitchin'-rail. Git your rope on a hitchin'-rail and I reckon that +hitchin'-rail would never git away from him." + +"He's broke right," reasserted Young Pete. "He's none of your ornery, +half-broke cayuses. You ought to seen him when he was a colt! Say, 't +wa'n't no time afore he could outwork and outrun any hoss in our bunch." + +"How old be you?" queried Annersley. + +"Twelve, goin' on thirteen." + +"Uh-huh. And the hoss?" + +"Oh, he's got a little age on him, but that don't hurt him none." + +Annersley's beard twitched. "He must 'a' been a colt for quite a +spell. But I ain't lookin' for a cow-hoss. What I want is a hoss that +I can work. How does he go in harness?" + +"Harness! Say, mister, this here hoss can pull the kingpin out of a +wagon without sweatin' a hair. Hook him onto a plough and he sure can +make the ole plough smoke." + +Annersley shook his head. "That's a mite too fast for me, son. I'd +hate to have to stop at the end of every furrow and pour water on that +there plough-point to keep her cool." + +"'Course if you're lookin' for a _cheap_ hoss," said Young Pete, +nothing abashed, "why, we got 'em. But I was showin' you the best in +the string." + +"Don't know that I want him. What you say he was worth?" + +"He's worth a hundred, to any man. But we're sellin' him cheap, for +cash--forty dollars." + +"Fifty," said the trader, "and if he ain't worth fifty, he ain't worth +puttin' a halter on. Fifty is givin' him to you." + +"So? Then I reckon I don't want him. I wa'n't lookin' for a present. +I was lookin' to buy a hoss." + +The trader saw a real customer slipping through his fingers. "You can +put a halter on him for forty--cash." + +"Nope. Your pardner here said forty,"--and Annersley smiled at Young +Pete. "I'll look him over ag'in for thirty." + +Young Pete knew that they needed money badly, a fact that the trader +was apt to ignore when he was drinking. "You said I could sell him for +forty, or mebby less, for cash," complained Young Pete, slipping from +the pony and tying him to the wagon-wheel. + +"You go lay down!" growled the trader, and he launched a kick that +jolted Pete into the smouldering camp-fire. Pete was used to being +kicked, but not before an audience. Moreover, the hot ashes had burned +his hands. Pete's dog, hitherto asleep beneath the wagon, rose +bristling, anxious to defend his young master, but afraid of the +trader. The cowering dog and the cringing boy told Annersley much. + +Young Pete, brushing the ashes from his over-alls, rose and shaking +with rage, pointed a trembling finger at the trader. "You're a doggone +liar! You're a doggone coward! You're a doggone thief!" + +"Just a minute, friend," said Annersley as the trader started toward +the boy. "I reckon the boy is right--but we was talkin' hosses. I'll +give you just forty dollars for the hoss--and the boy." + +"Make it fifty and you can take 'em. The kid is no good, anyhow." + +This was too much for Young Pete. He could stand abuse and scant +rations, but to be classed as "no good," when he had worked so hard and +lied so eloquently, hurt more than mere kick or blow. His face +quivered and he bit his lip. Old man Annersley slowly drew a wallet +from his overalls and counted out forty dollars. "That hoss ain't +sound," he remarked and he recounted the money. He's got a couple of +wind-puffs, and he's old. He needs feedin' and restin' up. That boy +your boy?" + +"That kid! Huh! I picked him up when he was starvin' to death over to +Enright. I been feedin' him and his no-account dog for a year, and +neither of 'em is worth what he eats." + +"So? Then I reckon you won't be missin' him none if I take him along +up to my place." + +The horse-trader did not want to lose Young Pete, but he did want +Annersley's money. "I'll leave it to him," he said, flattering himself +that Pete dare not leave him. + +"What do you say, son?"--and old man Annersley turned to Pete. "Would +you like to go along up with me and help me to run my place? I'm kind +o' lonesome up there, and I was thinkin' o' gettin' a pardner." + +"Where do you live?" queried Pete, quickly drying his eyes. + +"Why, up in those hills, which don't no way smell of liquor and are +tellin' the truth from sunup to sunup. Like to come along and give me +a hand with my stock?" + +"You bet I would!" + +"Here's your money," said Annersley, and he gave the trader forty +dollars. "Git right in that buckboard, son." + +"Hold on!" exclaimed the trader. "The kid stays here. I said fifty +for the outfit." + +"I'm goin'," asserted Young Pete. "I'm sick o' gettin' kicked and +cussed every time I come near him. He licked me with a rawhide last +week." + +"He did, eh? For why?" + +"'Cause he was drunk--that's why!" + +"Then I reckon you come with me. Such as him ain't fit to raise young +'uns." + +Young Pete was enjoying himself. This was indeed revenge--to hear some +one tell the trader what he was, and without the fear of a beating. +"I'll go with you," said Pete. "Wait till I git my blanket." + +"Don't you touch nothin' in that wagon!" stormed the trader. + +"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley. + +The horse-trader was deceived by Annersley's mild manner. As Young +Pete started toward the wagon, the trader jumped and grabbed him. The +boy flung up his arms to protect his face. Old man Annersley said +nothing, but with ponderous ease he strode forward, seized the trader +from behind, and shook that loose-mouthed individual till his teeth +rattled and the horizon line grew dim. + +"Git your blanket, son," said Annersley, as he swung the trader round, +deposited him face down in the sand, and sat on him. "I'm waitin'." + +"Goin' to kill him?" queried Young Pete, his black eyes snapping. + +"Shucks, no!" + +"Kin I kick him--jest onct, while you hold him down?" + +"Nope, son. That's too much like his way. You run along and git your +blanket if you're goin' with me." + +Young Pete scrambled to the wagon and returned with a tattered blanket, +his sole possession, and his because he had stolen it from a Mexican +camp near Enright. He scurried to the buckboard and hopped in. + +Annersley rose and brought the trader up with him as though the latter +were a bit of limp tie-rope. + +"And now we'll be driftin'," he told the other. + +Murder burned in the horse-trader's narrow eyes, but immediate physical +ambition was lacking. + +Annersley bulked big. The horse-trader cursed the old man in two +languages. Annersley climbed into the buckboard, gave Pete the +lead-rope of the recent purchase, and clucked to his horse, paying no +attention whatever to the volley of invectives behind him. + +"He'll git his gun and shoot you in the back," whispered Young Pete. + +"Nope, son. He'll jest go and git another drink and tell everybody in +Concho how he's goin' to kill me--some day. I've handled folks like +him frequent." + +"You sure kin fight!" exclaimed Young Pete enthusiastically. + +"Never hit a man in my life. I never dast to," said Annersley. + +"You jest set on 'em, eh?" + +"Jest set on 'em," said Annersley. "You keep tight holt to that rope. +That fool hoss acts like he wanted to go back to your camp." + +Young Pete braced his feet and clung to the rope, admonishing the horse +with outland eloquence. As they crossed the arroyo, the led horse +pulled back, all but unseating Young Pete. + +"Here, you!" cried the boy. "You quit that--afore my new pop takes you +by the neck and the--pants and sits on you!" + +"That's the idea, son. Only next time, jest tell him without cussin'." + +"He always cusses the hosses," said Young Pete. "Everybody cusses 'em." + +"'Most everybody. But a man what cusses a hoss is only cussin' +hisself. You're some young to git that--but mebby you'll recollect I +said so, some day." + +"Didn't you cuss him when you set on him?" queried Pete. + +"For why, son?" + +"Wa'n't you mad?" + +"Shucks, no." + +"Don't you ever cuss?" + +"Not frequent, son. Cussin' never pitched any hay for me." + +Young Pete was a bit disappointed. "Didn't you never cuss in your +life?" + +Annersley glanced down at the boy. + +"Well, if you promise you won't tell nobody, I did cuss onct, when I +struck the plough into a yellow-jacket's nest which I wa'n't aimin' to +hit, nohow. Had the reins round my neck, not expectin' visitors, when +them hornets come at me and the hoss without even ringin' the bell. +That team drug me quite a spell afore I got loose. When I got enough +dirt out of my mouth so as I could holler, I set to and said what I +thought." + +"Cussed the hosses and the doggone ole plough and them hornets--and +everything!" exclaimed Pete. + +"Nope, son, I cussed myself for hangin' them reins round my neck. What +you say your name was?" + +"Pete." + +"What was the trader callin' you--any other name besides Pete?" + +"Yes, I reckon he was. When he is good 'n' drunk he would be callin' +me a doggone little--" + +"Never mind, I know about that. I was meanin' your other name." + +"My other name? I ain't got none. I'm Pete." + +Annersley shook his head. "Well, pardner, you'll be Pete Annersley +now. Watch out that hoss don't jerk you out o' your jacket. This here +hill is a enterprisin' hill and leads right up to my place. Hang on! +As I was sayin', we're pardners, you and me. We're goin' up to my +place on the Blue and tend to the critters and git washed up and have +supper, and mebby after supper we'll mosey around so you kin git +acquainted with the ranch. Where'd you say your pop come from?" + +"I dunno. He ain't my real pop." + +Annersley turned and looked down at the lean, bright little face. "You +hungry, son?" + +"You bet!" + +"What you say if we kill a chicken for supper--and celebrate." + +"G'wan, you're joshin' me!" + +"Nope. I like chicken. And I got one that needs killin'; a no-account +ole hen what won't set and won't lay." + +"Then we'll ring her doggone head off, eh?" + +"Somethin' like that--only I ain't jest hatin' that there hen. She +ain't no good, that's all." + +Young Pete pondered, watching Annersley's grave, bearded face. +Suddenly he brightened. "I know! Nobody kin tell when you're joshin' +'em, 'cause your whiskers hides it. Guess I'll grow some whiskers and +then I kin fool everybody." + +Old man Annersley chuckled, and spoke to the horses. Young Pete, +happier than he had ever been, wondered if this good luck would +last--if it were real, or just a dream that would vanish, leaving him +shivering in his tattered blanket, and the horse-trader telling him to +get up and rustle wood for the morning fire. + +The buckboard topped the rise and leveled to the tree-girdled mesa. +Young Pete stared. This was the most beautiful spot he had ever seen. +Ringed round by a great forest of spruce, the Blue Mesa lay shimmering +in the sunset like an emerald lake, beneath a cloudless sky tinged with +crimson, gold, and amethyst. Across the mesa stood a cabin, the only +dwelling in that silent expanse. And this was to be his home, and the +big man beside him, gently urging the horse, was his partner. He had +said so. Surely the great adventure had begun. + +Annersley glanced down. Young Pete's hand was clutched in the old +man's coat-sleeve, but the boy was gazing ahead, his bright black eyes +filled with the wonder of new fortunes and a real home. Annersley +blinked and spoke sharply to the horse, although that good animal +needed no urging as he plodded sturdily toward the cabin. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES + +For a few days the old man had his hands full. Young Pete, used to +thinking and acting for himself, possessed that most valuable but often +dangerous asset, initiative. The very evening that he arrived at the +homestead, while Annersley was milking the one tame cow out in the +corral, Young Pete decided that he would help matters along by catching +the hen which Annersley had pointed out to him when he drove into the +yard. Milking did not interest Young Pete; but chasing chickens did. + +The hen, a slate-colored and maternal-appearing biddy, seemed to +realize that something unusual was afoot. She refused to be driven +into the coop, perversely diving about the yard and circling the +out-buildings until even Young Pete's ambition flagged. Out of breath +he marched to the house. Annersley's rifle stood in the corner. Young +Pete eyed it longingly, finally picked it up and stole gingerly to the +doorway. The slate-colored hen had cooled down and was at the moment +contemplating the cabin with head sideways, exceedingly suspicious and +ruffled, but standing still. Just as Young Pete drew a bead on her, +the big red rooster came running to assure her that all was well--that +he would protect her; that her trepidation was unfounded. He blustered +and strutted, declaring himself Lord High Protector of the hen-yard and +just about the handsomest thing in feathers--_Bloom_! Young Pete +blinked, and rubbed his shoulder. The slate-colored hen sprinted for +parts unknown. The big red rooster flopped once or twice and then gave +up the ghost. He had strutted across the firing line just as Young +Pete pulled the trigger. The cow jumped and kicked over the milk-pail. +Old Annersley came running. But Young Pete, the lust of the chase +spurring him on, had disappeared around the corner of the cabin after +the hen. He routed her out from behind the haystack, herded her +swiftly across the clearing to the lean-to stable, and corralled her, +so to speak, in a manger. Just as Annersley caught up with him, Pete +leveled and fired--at close range. What was left of the hen--which was +chiefly feathers, he gathered up and held by the remaining leg. "I got +her!" he panted. + +Annersley paused to catch his breath. "Yes--you got her. +Gosh-A'mighty, son--I thought you had started in to clean out the +ranch! You downed my rooster and you like to plugged me an' that +heifer there. The bullit come singin' along and plunked into the +rain-bar'l and most scared me to death. What in the ole scratch +started you on the war-path, anyhow?" + +Pete realized that he had overdone the matter slightly. "Why, +nothin'--only you said we was to eat that hen for supper, an' I +couldn't catch the dog-gone ole squawker, so I jest set to and plugged +her. This here gun of yourn kicks somethin' fierce!" + +"Well, I reckon you was meanin' all right. But Gosh-A'mighty! You +might 'a' killed the cow or me or somethin'!" + +"Well, I got her, anyhow. I got her plumb center." + +"Yes--you sure did." And the old man took the remains of the hen from +Pete and "hefted" those remains with a critical finger and thumb. "One +laig left, and a piece of the breast." He sighed heavily. Young Pete +stared up at him, expecting praise for his marksmanship and energy. +The old man put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "It's all right this +time, son. I reckon you wasn't meanin' to murder that rooster. I only +got one, and--" + +"He jest run right in front of the hen when I cut loose. He might 'a' +knowed better." + +"We'll go see." And Annersley plodded to the yard, picked up the +defunct rooster and entered the cabin. + +Young Pete cooled down to a realization that his new pop was not +altogether pleased. He followed Annersley, who told him to put the gun +back in the corner. + +"Got to clean her first," asserted Young Pete. + +"You look out you don't shoot yourself," said Annersley from the +kitchen. + +"Huh," came from the ambitious, young hunter of feathered game, "I know +all about guns--and this here ole musket sure needs cleanin' bad. She +liked to kicked my doggone head off." + +They ate what was left of the hen, and a portion of the rooster. After +supper Annersley sat outside with the boy and talked to him kindly. +Slowly it dawned upon Young Pete that it was not considered good form +in the best families of Arizona to slay law-abiding roosters without +explicit directions and permission from their owners. The old man +concluded with a promise that if Young Pete liked to shoot, he should +some day have a gun of his own if he, in turn, would agree to do no +shooting without permission. The promise of a real gun of his own +touched Young Pete's tough little heart. He stuck out his hand. The +compact was sealed. + +"Git a thirty-thirty," he suggested. + +"What do you know about thirty-thirties?" + +"Huh, I know lots. My other pop was tellin' me you could git a man +with a thirty a whole heap farther than you could with any ole +forty-four or them guns. I shot heaps of rabbits with his." + +"Well, we'll see. But you want to git over the idee of gettin' a man +with any gun. That goes with horse-tradin' and liquor and such. But +we sure aim to live peaceful, up here." + +Meanwhile, Young Pete, squatting beside Annersley, amused himself by +spitting tobacco juice at a procession of red ants that trailed from +nowhere in particular toward the doorstep. + +"Makes 'em sick," he chuckled as a lucky shot dissipated the procession. + +"It's sure wastin' cartridges on mighty small game," remarked Annersley. + +"Don't cost nothin' to spit on 'em," said Young Pete. + +"Not now. But when you git out of chewin'-tobacco, then where you +goin' to git some more?" + +"To the store, I reckon." + +"Uh-huh. But where you goin' to git the money?" + +"He was givin' me all the chewin' I wanted," said Pete. + +"Uh-huh. Well, I ain't got no money for chewin'-tobacco. But I tell +you what, Pete. Now, say I was to give you a dollar a week for--for +your wages. And say I was to git you one of them guns like you said; +you couldn't shoot chewin'-tobacco in that gun, could you?" + +"Most anybody knows that!" laughed Pete. + +"But you could buy cartridges with that dollar--an' shoot lots." + +"Would you lick me if I bought chewin'?" + +"Shucks, no! I was jest leavin' it to you." + +"When do I git that dollar--the first one?" + +Annersley smiled to himself. Pete was shrewd and in no way inclined to +commit himself carelessly. Horse-trading had sharpened his wits to a +razor-edge and dire necessity and hunger had kept those wits keen. +Annersley was amused and at the same time wise enough in his patient, +slow way to hide his amusement and talk with Pete as man to man. "Why, +you ain't been workin' for me a week yet! And come to think--that +rooster was worth five dollars--every cent! What you say if I was to +charge that rooster up to you? Then after five weeks you was to git a +dollar, eh?" + +Pete pondered this problem. "Huh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "You et +more 'n half that rooster--and some of the hen." + +"All right, son. Then say I was to charge you two dollars for what you +et?" + +"Then, I guess beans is good enough for me. Anyhow, I never stole your +rooster. I jest shot him." + +"Which is correct. Reckon we'll forgit about that rooster and start +fresh." The old man fumbled in his pocket and brought up a silver +dollar. "Here's your first week's wages, son. What you aim to do with +it?" + +"Buy cartridges!" exclaimed Pete. "But I ain't got no gun." + +"Well, we'll be goin' to town right soon. I'll git you a gun, and +mebby a scabbard so you can carry it on the saddle." + +"Kin I ride that hoss I seen out there?" queried Pete. + +"What about ridin' the hoss you sold me? From what you said, I reckon +they ain't no hoss can touch him, in this country." + +Pete hesitated on the thin edge of committing himself, tottered and +almost fell, but managed to retain his balance. "Sure, he's a good +hoss! Got a little age on him, but that don't hurt none. I was +thinkin' mebby you'd like that other cayuse of yours broke right. +Looks to me like he needs some handlin' to make a first-class +saddle-hoss." + +The old man smiled broadly. Pete, like a hungry mosquito, was hard to +catch. + +"You kin ride him," said Annersley. "'Course, if he pitches you--" +And the old man chuckled. + +"Pitch me? Say, pardner, I'm a ridin' son-of-a-gun from Powder River +and my middle name is 'stick.' I kin ride 'm comin' and goin'--crawl +'m on the run and bust 'm wide open every time they bit the dirt. Turn +me loose and hear me howl. Jest give me room and see me split the air! +You want to climb the fence when I 'm a-comin'!" + +"Where did you git that little song?" queried Annersley. + +"Why--why, that's how the fellas shoot her over to the round-up at +Magdalena and Flag. Reckon I been there!" + +"Well, don't you bust ole Apache too hard, son. He's a mighty +forgivin' hoss--but he's got feelin's." + +"Huh! You're a-joshin' me agin. I seen your whiskers kind o' wiggle. +You think I'm scared o' that hoss?" + +"Just a leetle mite, son. Or you wouldn't 'a' sung that there +high-chin song. There's some good riders that talk lots. But the best +riders I ever seen, jest rode 'em--and said nothin'." + +"Like when you set on my other pop, eh?" + +"That's the idee." + +Pete, used to a rough-and-tumble existence, was deeply impressed by the +old man's quiet outlook and gentle manner. While not altogether in +accord with Annersley's attitude in regard to profanity and chewing +tobacco--still, Young Pete felt that a man who could down the +horse-trader and sit on him and suffer no harm was somehow worth +listening to. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A WARNING + +That first and unforgettable year on the homestead was the happiest +year of Pete's life. Intensely active, tireless, and resourceful--as +are most youngsters raised in the West--he learned to milk the tame +cow, manipulate the hay-rake, distinguish potato-vines from weeds and +hoe accordingly, and through observation and Annersley's thrifty +example, take care of his clothing and few effects. The old man taught +Pete to read and to write his own name--a painful process, for Young +Pete cared nothing for that sort of education and suffered only that he +might please his venerable partner. When it came to the plaiting of +rawhide into bridle-reins and reatas, the handling of a rope, packing +for a hunting trip, reading a dim trail when tracking a stray horse, or +any of the many things essential to life in the hills, Young Pete took +hold with boyish enthusiasm, copying Annersley's methods to the letter. +Pete was repaid a thousand-fold for his efforts by the old man's +occasional: + +"Couldn't 'a' done it any better myself, pardner." + +For Annersley seldom called the boy "Pete" now, realizing that +"pardner" meant so much more to him. + +Pete had his rifle--an old carbine, much scratched and battered by the +brush and rock--a thirty-thirty the old man had purchased from a cowboy +in Concho. + +Pete spent most of his spare time cleaning and polishing the gun. He +had a fondness for firearms that almost amounted to a passion. +Evenings, when the work was done and Annersley sat smoking in the +doorway, Young Pete invariably found excuse to clean and oil his gun. +He invested heavily in cartridges and immediately used up his +ammunition on every available target until there was not an unpunctured +tin can on the premises. He was quick and accurate, finally scorning +to shoot at a stationary mark and often riding miles to get to the +valley level where there were rabbits and "Jacks," that he occasionally +bowled over on the run. Once he shot a coyote, and his cup of +happiness brimmed--for the time being. + +All told, it was a most healthful and happy life for a boy, and Young +Pete learned, unconsciously, to "ride, shoot, and Tell the Truth," as +against "Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic," for which he cared nothing. +Pete might have gone far--become a well-to-do cattleman or rancher--had +not Fate, which can so easily wipe out all plans and precautions in a +flash, stepped in and laid a hand on his bridle-rein. + +That summer occasional riders stopped at the cabin, were fed and housed +and went on their way. They came chiefly from the T-Bar-T ranch--some +few from Concho, a cattle outfit of the lower country. Pete +intuitively disliked these men, despite the fact that they rode +excellent horses, sported gay trappings, and "joshed" with him as +though he were one of themselves. His instinct told him that they were +not altogether friendly to Annersley. They frequently drifted into +warm argument as to water-rights and nesters in general--matters that +did not interest Young Pete at the time, who failed, naturally, to +grasp the ultimate meaning of the talk. But the old man never seemed +perturbed by these arguments, declining, in his good-natured way, to +take them seriously, and feeling secure in his own rights, as a +hard-working citizen, to hold and cultivate the allotment he had earned +from the Government. + +The T-Bar-T outfit especially grudged him the water that they had +previously used to such good advantage. This water was now under +fence. To make this water available to cattle would disrupt the +homestead. It was at this time that Young Pete first realized the +significance of these hard-riding visitors. He was cleaning his +much-polished carbine, sitting cross-legged round the corner of the +cabin, when two of the chance visitors, having washed and discarded +their chaps, strolled out and squatted by the doorway. Old man +Annersley was at the back of the cabin preparing supper. + +One of the riders, a man named Gary, said something to his companion +about "running the old man out of the country." + +Young Pete paused in his task. + +"You can't bluff him so easy," offered the companion. + +"But a thirty-thirty kin talk business," said the man Gary, and he +laughed. + +Pete never forgot the remark nor the laugh. Next day, after the riders +had departed, he told his pop what he had heard. The old man made him +repeat the conversation. He shook his head. "Mostly talk," he said. + +"They dassent to start runnin' _us_ off--dast they?" queried Young Pete. + +"Mostly talk," reiterated Annersley; but Pete saw that his pop was +troubled. + +"They can't bluff us, eh, pop?" + +"I reckon not, son. How many cartridges you got?" + +Young Pete thrilled to the question. "Got ten out of the last box. +You got any?" + +"Some. Reckon we'll go to town to-morrow." + +"To git some cartridges?" + +"Mebby." + +This was Young Pete's first real intimation that there might be trouble +that would occasion the use of cartridges. The idea did not displease +him. They drove to town, bought some provisions and ammunition, and +incidentally the old man visited the sheriff and retailed the +conversation that Pete had overheard. + +"Bluff!" said the sheriff, whose office depended upon the vote of the +cattlemen. "Just bluff, Annersley. You hang on to what you got and +they won't be no trouble. I know just how far those boys will go." + +"Well, I don't," said Annersley. "So I was jest puttin' what you call +bluff on record, case anything happened." + +The sheriff, secretly in league with the cattlemen to crowd Annersley +off the range, took occasion to suggest to the T-Bar-T foreman that the +old man was getting cold feet--which was a mistake, for Annersley had +simply wished to keep within the law and avoid trouble if possible. +Thus it happened that Annersley brought upon himself the very trouble +that he had honorably tried to avoid. Let the most courageous man even +seem to turn and run and how soon his enemies will take up the chase! + +But nothing happened that summer, and it was not until the following +spring that the T-Bar-T outfit gave any hint of their real intent. The +anonymous letter was a vile screed--because it was anonymous and also +because it threatened, in innuendo, to burn out a homestead held by one +man and a boy. + +Annersley showed the letter to Pete and helped him spell it out. Then +he explained gravely his own status as a homesteader, the law which +allowed him to fence the water, and the labor which had made the land +his. It was typical of Young Pete that when a real hazard threatened +he never said much. In this instance the boy did not know just what to +do. That evening Annersley missed him and called, "What you doin', +pardner?" + +From the cabin--Annersley, as usual, was seated outside, smoking--came +the reply: "Countin' my cartridges." + +Annersley knew that the anonymous letter would be followed by some +hostile act if he did not vacate the homestead. He wasted no time +worrying as to what might happen--but he did worry about Young Pete. +If the cattlemen raided his place, it would be impossible to keep that +young and ambitious fire-eater out of harm's way. So the old man +planned to take Pete to Concho the next morning and leave him with the +storekeeper until the difficulty should be solved, one way or the other. + +This time they did not drive to Concho, but saddled up and rode down +the hill trail. And during the journey Young Pete was unusually +silent, wondering just what his pop planned to do. + +At the store Annersley privately explained the situation to the +storekeeper. Then he told Young Pete that he would leave him there for +a few days as he was "goin' over north a spell." + +Young Pete studied the old man with bright, blinking eyes that +questioned the truth of this statement. His pop had never lied to him, +and although Pete suspected what was in the wind, he had no ground for +argument. Annersley was a trifle surprised that the boy consented to +stay without demur. Annersley might have known that Young Pete's very +silence was significant; but the old man was troubled and only too glad +to find his young partner so amenable to his suggestion. When +Annersley left the store Young Pete's "So-long, pop," was as casual as +sunshine, but his tough little heart was thumping with restrained +excitement. He knew that his pop feared trouble and wished to face it +alone. + +Pete allowed a reasonable length of time to elapse and then approached +the storekeeper. "Gimme a box of thirty-thirties," he said, fishing up +some silver from his overall pocket. + +"Where'd you get all that money, Pete?" + +"Why, I done stuck up the fo'man of the T-Bar-T on pay-day and made him +shell out," said Pete. + +The storekeeper grinned. "Here you be. Goin' huntin'?" + +"Uh-huh. Huntin' snakes." + +"Honest, now! Where'd you git the change?" + +"My wages!" said Young Pete proudly. "Pop is givin' me a dollar a week +for helpin' him. We're pardners." + +"Your pop is right good to you, ain't he?" + +"You bet! And he can lick any ole bunch of cow-chasers in this +country. Somebody's goin' to git hurt if they monkey with him!" + +"Where 'd you get the idea anybody was going to monkey with your dad?" + +Young Pete felt that he had been incautious. He refused to talk +further, despite the storekeeper's friendly questioning. Instead, the +boy roamed about the store, inspecting and commenting upon saddlery, +guns, canned goods, ready-made clothing, and showcase trinkets, his +ears alert for every word exchanged by the storekeeper and a chance +customer. Presently two cowboys clumped in, joshed with the +store-keeper, bought tobacco and ammunition--a most usual procedure, +and clumped out again. Young Pete strolled to the door and watched +them enter the adobe saloon across the way--Tony's Place--the +rendezvous of the riders of the high mesas. Again a group of cowboys +arrived, jesting and roughing their mounts. They entered the store, +bought ammunition, and drifted to the saloon. It was far from pay-day, +as Pete knew. It was also the busy season. There was some ulterior +reason for so many riders assembling in town. Pete decided to find out +just what they were up to. + +After supper he meandered across to the saloon, passed around it, and +hid in an empty barrel near the rear door. He was uncomfortable, but +not unhappy. He listened for a chance word that might explain the +presence of so many cowboys in town that day. Frequently he heard +Gary's name mentioned. He had not seen Gary with the others. But the +talk was casual, and he learned nothing until some one remarked that it +was about time to drift along. They left in a body, taking the mesa +trail that led to the Blue. This was significant. They usually left +in groups of two or three, as their individual pleasure dictated. And +there was a business-like alertness about their movements that did not +escape Young Pete. + +The Arizona stars were clear and keen when he crept round to the front +of the saloon and pattered across the road to the store. The +storekeeper was closing for the night. Young Pete, restlessly anxious +to follow the T-Bar-T men, invented an excuse to leave the storekeeper, +who suggested that they go to bed. + +"Got to see if my hoss is all right," said Pete. "The ole fool's like +to git tangled up in that there drag-rope I done left on him. Reckon +I'll take it off." + +"Why, your dad was tellin' me you was a reg'lar buckaroo. Thought you +knew better than to leave a rope on a hoss when he's in a corral." + +"I forgot," invented Pete. "Won't take a minute." + +"Then I'll wait for you. Run along while I get my lantern." + +The storekeeper's house was but a few doors down the street, which, +however, meant quite a distance, as Concho straggled over considerable +territory. He lighted the lantern and sat down on the steps waiting +for the boy. From the corral back of the store came the sound of +trampling hoofs and an occasional word from Young Pete, who seemed to +be a long time at the simple task of untying a drag-rope. The +store-keeper grew suspicious and finally strode back to the corral. +His first intimation of Pete's real intent was a glimpse of the boy +astride the big bay and blinking in the rays of the lantern. + +"What you up to?" queried the storekeeper. + +Young Pete's reply was to dig his heels into the horse's ribs. The +storekeeper caught hold of the bridle. "You git down and come home +with me. Where you goin' anyhow?" + +"Take your hand off that bridle," blustered Young Pete. + +The trader had to laugh. "Got spunk, ain't you? Now you git down and +come along with me, Pete. No use you riding back to the mesa to-night. +Your dad ain't there. You can't find him to-night." + +Pete's lip quivered. What right had the store-keeper, or any man, to +take hold of his bridle? + +"See here, Pete, where do you think you're goin'?" + +"Home!" shrilled Pete as he swung his hat and fanned the horse's ears. +It had been many years since that pony had had his ears fanned, but he +remembered early days and rose to the occasion, leaving the storekeeper +in the dust and Young Pete riding for dear life to stay in the saddle. +Pete's hat was lost in the excitement, and next to his rifle, the old +sombrero inherited from his pop was Pete's dearest possession. But +even when the pony had ceased to pitch, Pete dared not go back for it. +He would not risk being caught a second time. + +He jogged along up the mesa trail, peering ahead in the dusk, +half-frightened and half-elated. If the T-Bar-T outfit were going to +run his pop out of the country, Young Pete intended to be in at the +running. The feel of the carbine beneath his leg gave him courage. Up +to the time Annersley had adopted him, Pete had had to fight and scheme +and dodge his way through life. He had asked no favors and expected +none. His pop had stood by him in his own deepest trouble, and he +would now stand by his pop. That he was doing anything especially +worthy did not occur to him. Partners always "stuck." + +The horse, anxious to be home, took the long grade quickly, restrained +by Pete, who felt that it would be poor policy to tread too closely +upon the heels of the T-Bar-T men. That they intended mischief was now +only too evident. And Pete would have been disappointed had they not. +Although sophisticated beyond his years and used to the hazards of a +rough life, _this_ adventure thrilled him. Perhaps the men would set +fire to the outbuildings and the haystack, or even try to burn the +cabin. But they would have a sorry time getting to the cabin if his +pop were really there. + +Up the dim, starlit trail he plodded, shivering and yet elate. As he +topped the rise he thought he could see the vague outlines of horses +and men, but he was not certain. That soft glow against the distant +timber was real enough, however! There was no mistaking that! The log +stable was on fire! + +The horse fought the bit as Young Pete reined him into the timber. + +Pete could see no men against the glow of the burning building, but he +knew that they were there somewhere, bushed in the brush and waiting. +Within a few hundred yards of the cabin he was startled by the flat +crack of a rifle. He felt frightened and the blood sang in his ears. +But he could not turn back now! His pop might be besieged in the +cabin, alone and fighting a cowardly bunch of cow-punchers who dare not +face him in the open day. But what if his pop were not there? The +thought struck him cold. What would he do if he made a run for the +cabin and found it locked and no one there? All at once Pete realized +that it was _his_ home and _his_ stock and hay that were in danger. +Was he not a partner in pop's homestead? Then a thin red flash from +the cabin window told him that Annersley was there. Following the +flash came the rip and roar of the old rifle. Concealed in the timber, +Pete could see the flames licking up the stable. Presently a long +tongue of yellow shot up the haystack. "The doggone snakes done fired +our hay!" he cried, and his voice caught in a sob. This was too much. +Hay was a precious commodity in the high country. Pete yanked out his +carbine, loosed a shot at nothing in particular, and rode for the cabin +on the run. "We're coming pop," he yelled, followed by his shrill +"Yip! Yip! We're all here!" + +Several of the outlying cow-punchers saw the big bay rear and stop at +the cabin as Young Pete flung out of the saddle and pounded on the +door. "It's me, pop! It's Pete! Lemme in!" + +Annersley's heart sank. Why had the boy come? How did he know? How +had he managed to get away? + +He flung open the door and dragged Pete in. + +"What you doin' here?" he challenged. + +"I done lost my hat," gasped Pete. "I--I was lookin' for it." + +"Your hat? You gone loco? Git in there and lay down!" And though it +was dark in the cabin Young Pete knew that his pop had gestured toward +the bed. Annersley had never spoken in that tone before, and Young +Pete resented it. + +Pete was easily led, but mighty hard to drive. + +"Nothin' doin'!" said Pete. "You can't boss me 'round like that! You +said we was pardners, and that we was both boss. I knowed they was +comin' and I fanned it up here to tell you. I reckon we kin lick the +hull of 'em. I got plenty cartridges." + +Despite the danger, old man Annersley smiled as he choked back a word +of appreciation for Pete's stubborn loyalty and grit. When he spoke +again Pete at once caught the change in tone. + +"You keep away from the window," said Annersley. "Them coyotes out +there 'most like aim to rush me when the blaze dies down. Reckon +they'll risk settin' fire to the cabin. I don't want to kill +nobody--but--you keep back--and if they git me, you stay right still in +here. They won't hurt you." + +"Not if I git a bead on any of 'em!" said Young Pete, taking courage +from his pop's presence. "Did you shoot any of 'em yet, pop?" + +"I reckon not. I cut loose onct or twict, to scare 'em off. You keep +away from the window." + +Young Pete had crept to the window and was gazing out at the sinking +flames. "Say, ain't we pardners?" he queried irritably. "You said we +was when you brung me up here. And pardners stick, don't they? I +reckon if it was my shack that was gittin' rushed, you 'd stick, and +not go bellyin' under the bunk and hidin' like a dog-gone prairie-dog." + +[Illustration: "Say, ain't we pardners?"] + +"That's all right," said Annersley. "But there's no use takin' +chances. You keep back till we find out what they're goin' to do next." + +Standing in the middle of the room, well back from the southern window, +the old man gazed out upon the destruction of his buildings and +carefully hoarded hay. He breathed hard. The riders knew that he was +in the cabin--that they had not bluffed him from the homestead. +Probably they would next try to fire the cabin itself. They could +crawl up to it in the dark and set fire to the place before he was +aware of it. Well, they would pay high before they got him. He had +fed and housed these very men--and now they were trying to run him out +of the country because he had fenced a water-hole which he had every +right to fence. He had toiled to make a home for himself, and the boy, +he thought, as he heard Young Pete padding about the cabin. The +cattlemen had written a threatening letter hinting of this, yet they +had not dared to meet him in the open and have it out face to face. He +did not want to kill, yet such men were no better than wolves. And as +wolves he thought of them, as he determined to defend his home. + +Young Pete, spider-like in his quick movements, scurried about the +cabin making his own plan of battle. It did not occur to him that he +might get hurt--or that his pop would get hurt. They were safe enough +behind the thick logs. All he thought of was the chance of a shot at +what he considered legitimate game. While drifting about the country +he had heard many tales of gunmen and border raids, and it was quite +evident, even to his young mind, that the man who suffered attack by a +gun was justified in returning the compliment in kind. And to this end +he carefully arranged his cartridges on the floor, knelt and raised the +window a few inches and cocked the old carbine. Annersley realized +what the boy was up to and stepped forward to pull him away from the +window. And in that brief moment Young Pete's career was +shaped--shaped beyond all question or argument by the wanton bullet +that sung across the open, cut a clean hole in the window, and dropped +Annersley in his tracks. + +The distant, flat report of the shot broke the silence, fired more in +the hope of intimidating Annersley than anything else, yet the man who +had fired it must have known that there was but one place in the brush +from where the window could be seen--and to that extent the shot was +premeditated, with the possibility of its killing some one in the cabin. + +Young Pete heard his pop gasp and saw him stagger in the dim light. In +a flash Pete was at his side. "You hit, pop?" he quavered. There came +no reply. Annersley had died instantly. Pete fumbled at his chest in +the dark, called to him, tried to shake him, and then, realizing what +had happened threw himself on the floor beside Annersley and sobbed +hopelessly. Again a bullet whipped across the clearing. Glass tinkled +on the cabin floor. Pete cowered and hid his face in his arms. +Suddenly a shrill yell ripped the silence. The men were rushing the +cabin! Young Pete's fighting blood swelled his pulse. He and pop had +been partners. And partners always "stuck." Pete crept cautiously to +the window. Halfway across the clearing the blurred hulk of running +horses loomed in the starlight. Young Pete rested his carbine on the +window-sill and centered on the bulk. He fired and thought he saw a +horse rear. Again he fired. This was much easier than shooting deer. +He beard a cry and the drumming of hoofs. Something crashed against +the door. Pete whirled and fired point-blank. Before he knew what had +happened men were in the cabin. Some one struck a match. Young Pete +cowered in a corner, all the fight oozing out of him as the lamp was +lighted and he saw several men masked with bandannas. "The old man's +done for," said one of them, stooping to look at Annersley. Another +picked up the two empty shells from Annersley's rifle. "Where's the +kid?" asked another. "Here, in the corner," said a cowboy. "Must 'a' +been him that got Wright and Bradley. The old man only cut loose +twict--afore the kid come. Look at this!" And dragging Young Pete to +his feet, the cowboy took the carbine from him and pointed to the three +thirty-thirty shells on the cabin floor. + +The men were silent. Presently one of them laughed. Despite Pete's +terror, he recognized that laugh. He knew that the man was Gary, he +who had once spoken of running Annersley out of the country. + +"It's a dam' bad business," said one of the men. "The kid knows too +much. He'll talk." + +"Will you keep your mouth shut, if we don't kill you?" queried Gary. + +"Cut that out!" growled another. "The kid's got sand. He downed two +of us--and we take our medicine. I'm for fannin' it." + +Pete, stiff with fear, saw them turn and clump from the cabin. + +As they left he heard one say something which he never forgot. "Must +'a' been Gary's shot that downed the o1e man. Gary knowed the layout +and where he could get a line on the window." + +Pete dropped to the floor and crawled over to Annersley. "Pop!" he +called again and again. Presently he realized that the kindly old man +who had made a home for him, and who had been more like a real father +than his earlier experiences had ever allowed him to imagine, would +never again answer. In the yellow haze of the lamp, Young Pete rose +and dragging a blanket from the bed, covered the still form and the +upturned face, half in reverence for the dead and half in fear that +those dead lips might open and speak. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +JUSTICE + +Dawn bared the smouldering evidence of that dastardly attack. The +stable and the lean-to, where Annersley had stored his buckboard and a +few farm implements when winter came, the corral fence, the haystack, +were feathery ashes, which the wind stirred occasionally as a raw red +sun shoved up from behind the eastern hills. The chicken-coop, near +the cabin, had not been touched by the fire. Young Pete, who had +fallen asleep through sheer exhaustion, was awakened by the cackling of +the hens. He jumped up. It was time to let those chickens out. +Strange that his pop had not called him! He rubbed his eyes, started +suddenly as he realized that he was dressed--and then he +remembered . . . + +He trembled, fearful of what he would see when he stepped into the +other room. "Pop!" he whispered. The hens cackled loudly. From +somewhere in the far blue came the faint whistle of a hawk. A board +creaked under his foot and he all but cried out. He stole to the +window, scrambled over the sill, and dropped to the ground. Through +habit he let the chickens out. They rushed from the coop and spread +over the yard, scratching and clucking happily. Pete was surprised +that the chickens should go about their business so casually. They did +not seem to care that his pop had been killed. + +He was back to the cabin before he realized what he was doing. From +the doorway he saw that still form shrouded in the familiar old gray +blanket. Something urged him to lift a corner of the blanket and +look--something stronger held him back. He tip-toed to the kitchen and +began building a fire. "Pop would be gettin' breakfast," he whispered. +Pete fried bacon and made coffee. He ate hurriedly, occasionally +turning his head to glance at that still figure beneath the blanket. +Then he washed the dishes and put them carefully away, as his pop would +have done. That helped to occupy his mind, but his most difficult task +was still before him. He dared not stay in the cabin--and yet he felt +that he was a coward if he should leave. Paradoxically he reasoned +that if his pop were alive, he would know what to do. Pete knew of +only one thing to do--and that was to go to Concho and tell the sheriff +what had happened. Trying his best to ignore the gray blanket, he +picked up all the cartridges he could find, and the two rifles, and +backed from the room. He felt ashamed of the fear that drove him from +the cabin. He did not want his pop to think that he was a coward. +Partners always "stuck," and yet he was running away. "Good-bye, pop," +he quavered. He choked and sobbed, but no tears came. He turned and +went to look for the horses. + +Then he remembered that the corral fence was burned, that there had +been no horses there when he went to let the chickens out. He followed +horse-tracks to the edge of the timber and then turned back. The +horses had been stampeded by the flames and the shooting. Pete knew +that they might be miles from the cabin. He cut across the mesa to the +trail and trudged down toward Concho. His eyes burned and his throat +ached. The rifles grew heavy, but he would not leave them. It was +significant that Pete thought of taking nothing else from the cabin, +neither clothing, food, nor the money that he knew to be in Annersley's +wallet in the bedroom. The sun burned down upon his unprotected head, +but he did not feel it. He felt nothing save the burning ache in his +throat and a hope that the sheriff would arrest the men who had killed +his pop. He had great faith in the sheriff, who, as Annersley had told +him, was the law. The law punished evildoers. The men who had killed +pop would be hung--Pete was sure of that! + +Hatless, burning with fever and thirst, he arrived at the store in +Concho late in the afternoon. A friendly cowboy from the low country +joshed him about his warlike appearance. Young Pete was too exhausted +to retort. He marched into the store, told the storekeeper what had +happened, and asked for the sheriff. The storekeeper saw that there +was something gravely wrong with Pete. His face was flushed and his +eyes altogether too bright. He insisted on going at once to the +sheriff's office. + +"Now, you set down and rest. Just stay right here and keep your eye on +things out front--and I'll go get the sheriff." And the storekeeper +coaxed and soothed Pete into giving up his rifles. Promising to return +at once, the storekeeper set out on his errand, shaking his head +gravely. Annersley had been a good man, a man who commanded affection +and respect from most persons. And now the T-Bar-T men "had got him." +The storekeeper was not half so surprised as he was grieved. He had +had an idea that something like this might happen. It was a cattle +country, and Annersley had been the only homesteader within miles of +Concho. "I wonder just how much of this the sheriff knows already," he +soliloquized. "It's mighty tough on the kid." + +When Sheriff Sutton and the storekeeper entered the store they found +Young Pete in a stupor from which he did not awaken for many hours. He +was put to bed and a doctor summoned from a distant town. It would +have been useless, even brutal, to have questioned Pete, so the sheriff +simply took the two rifles and the cartridges to his office, with what +information the storekeeper could give him. The sheriff, who had +always respected Annersley, was sorry that this thing had happened. +Yet he was not sorry that Young Pete could give no evidence. The +cattlemen would have time to pretty well cover up their tracks. +Annersley had known the risks he was running when he took up the land. +The sheriff told his own conscience that "it was just plain suicide." +His conscience, being the better man, told him that it was "just plain +murder." The sheriff knew--and yet what could he do without evidence, +except visit the scene of the shooting, hold a post-mortem, and wait +until Young Pete was well enough to talk? + +One thing puzzled Sheriff Sutton. Both rifles had been used. So the +boy had taken a hand in the fight? Several shots must have been fired, +for Annersley was not a man to suffer such an outrage in silence. And +the boy was known to be a good shot. Yet there had been no news of +anyone having been wounded among the raiders. Sutton was preparing to +ride to the Blue and investigate when a T-Bar-T man loped up and +dismounted. They talked a minute or two. Then the cowboy rode out of +town. The sheriff was no longer puzzled about the two rifles having +been used. The cowboy had told him that two of the T-Bar-T men had +been killed. That in each instance a thirty-thirty, soft-nosed slug +had done the business. Annersley's rifle was an old forty-eighty-two, +shooting a solid lead bullet. + +When Sheriff Button arrived at the cabin he found the empty shells on +the floor, noted the holes in the window, and read the story of the +raid plainly. "Annersley shot to scare 'em off--but the kid shot to +kill," he argued. "And dam' if I blame him." + +Later, when Young Pete was able to talk, he was questioned by the +sheriff. He told of the raid, of the burning of the outbuildings, and +how Annersley had been killed. When questioned as to his own share in +the proceedings, Pete refused to answer. When shown the two guns and +asked which was his, he invariably replied, "Both of 'em," nor could he +be made to answer otherwise. Finally Sheriff Sutton gave it up, partly +because of public opinion, which was in open sympathy with Young Pete, +and partly because he feared that in case arrests were made, and Pete +were called as a witness, the boy would tell in court more than he had +thus far divulged. The sheriff thought that Pete was able to identify +one or more of the men who had entered the cabin, if he cared to do so. +As it was, Young Pete was crafty. Already he distrusted the sheriff's +sincerity. Then, the fact that two of the T-Bar-T men had been killed +rather quieted the public mind, which expressed itself as pretty well +satisfied that old man Annersley's account was squared. He or the boy +had "got" two of the enemy. In fact, it was more or less of a joke on +the T-Bar-T outfit--they should have known better. + +An inquest decided that Annersley had come to his death at the hands of +parties unknown. The matter was eventually shunted to one of the many +legal sidings along the single-track law that operated in that +vicinity. Annersley's effects were sold at auction and the proceeds +used to bury him. His homestead reverted to the Government, there +being no legal heir. Young Pete was again homeless, save for the +kindness of the storekeeper, who set him to work helping about the +place. + +In a few months Pete was seemingly over his grief, but he never gave up +the hope that some day he would find the man who had killed his pop. +In cow-camp and sheep-camp, in town and on the range, he had often +heard reiterated that unwritten law of the outlands: "If a man tried to +get you--run or fight. But if a man kills your friend or your kin--get +him." A law perhaps not as definitely worded in the retailing of +incident or example, but as obvious nevertheless as was the necessity +to live up to it or suffer the ever-lasting scorn of one's fellows. + +Some nine or ten months after the inquest Young Pete disappeared. No +one knew where he had gone, and eventually he was more or less +forgotten by the folk of Concho. But two men never forgot him--the +storekeeper and the sheriff. One of them hoped that the boy might come +back some day. He had grown fond of Pete. The other hoped that he +would not come back. + +Meanwhile the T-Bar-T herds grazed over Annersley's homestead. The +fence had been torn down, cattle wallowed in the mud of the water-hole, +and drifted about the place until little remained as evidence of the +old man's patient toil save the cabin. That Young Pete should again +return to the cabin and there unexpectedly meet Gary was undreamed of +as a possibility by either of them; yet fate had planned this very +thing--"otherwise," argues the Fatalist, "how could it have happened?" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A CHANGE OF BASE + +To say that Young Pete had any definite plan when he left Concho and +took up with an old Mexican sheep-herder would be stretching the +possibilities. And Pete Annersley's history will have to speak for +itself as illustrative of a plan from which he could not have departed +any more than he could have originated and followed to its final +ultimatum. + +Life with the storekeeper had been tame. Pete had no horse; and the +sheriff, taking him at his word, had refused to give up either one of +the rifles unless Pete would declare which one he had used that fateful +night of the raid. And Pete would not do that. He felt that somehow +he had been cheated. Even the storekeeper Roth discouraged him from +using fire-arms, fearing that the boy might some day "cut loose" at +somebody without word or warning. Pete was well fed and did not have +to work hard, yet his ideas of what constituted a living were far +removed from the conventions of Concho. He wanted to ride, to hunt, to +drive team, to work in the open with lots of elbow-room and under a +wide sky. His one solace while in the store was the array of rifles +and six-guns which he almost reverenced for their suggestive potency. +They represented power, and the only law that he believed in. + +Some time after Pete had disappeared, the store-keeper, going over his +stock, missed a heavy-caliber six-shooter. He wondered if the boy had +taken it. Roth did not care so much for the loss of the gun as for the +fact that Pete might have stolen it. Later Roth discovered a crudely +printed slip of paper among the trinkets in the showcase. "I took a +gun and cartriges for my wagges. You never giv me Wages." Which was +true enough, the storekeeper figuring that Pete's board and lodging +were just about offset by his services. In paying Pete a dollar a +week, Annersley had established a precedent which involved Young Pete's +pride as a wage-earner. In making Pete feel that he was really worth +more than his board and lodging, Annersley had helped the boy to a +certain self-respect which Pete subconsciously felt that he had lost +when Roth, the storekeeper, gave him a home and work but no pay. Young +Pete did not dislike Roth, but the contrast of Roth's close methods +with the large, free-handed dealings of Annersley was ever before him. +Pete was strong for utility. He had no boyish sense of the dramatic, +consciously. He had never had time to play. Everything he did, he did +seriously. So when he left Concho at dusk one summer evening, he did +not "run away" in any sense. He simply decided that it was time to go +elsewhere--and he went. + +The old Mexican, Montoya, had a band of sheep in the high country. +Recently the sheep had drifted past Concho, and Pete, alive to anything +and everything that was going somewhere, had waited on the Mexican at +the store. Sugar, coffee, flour, and beans were packed on the shaggy +burros. Pete helped carry the supplies to the doorway and watched him +pack. The two sharp-nosed sheep-dogs interested Pete. They seemed so +alert, and yet so quietly satisfied with their lot. The last thing the +old Mexican did was to ask for a few cartridges. Pete did not +understand just what kind he wanted. With a secretiveness which +thrilled Pete clear to the toes, the old herder, in the shadowy rear of +the store, drew a heavy six-shooter from under his arm and passed it +stealthily to Pete, who recognized the caliber and found cartridges for +it. Pete's manner was equally stealthy. This smacked of adventure! +Cattlemen and sheepmen were not friendly, as Pete knew. Pete had no +love for the "woolies," yet he hated cattlemen. The old Mexican +thanked him and invited him to visit his camp below Concho. Possibly +Pete never would have left the storekeeper--or at least not +immediately--had not that good man, always willing to cater to Pete's +curiosity as to guns and gunmen, told him that old Montoya, while a +Mexican, was a dangerous man with a six-gun; that he was seldom +molested by the cattlemen, who knew him to be absolutely without fear +and a dead shot. + +"Huh! That old herder ain't no gun-fighter!" Pete had said, although +he believed the storekeeper. Pete wanted to hear more. + +"Most Mexicans ain't," replied Roth, for Pete's statement was half a +challenge, half a question. "But Jose Montoya never backed down from a +fight--and he's had plenty." + +Pete was interested. He determined to visit Montoya's camp that +evening. He said nothing to Roth, as he intended to return. + +Long before Pete arrived at the camp he saw the tiny fire--a dot of red +against the dark--and he heard the muffled trampling of the sheep as +they bedded down for the night. Within a few yards of the camp the +dogs challenged him, charging down the gentle slope to where he stood. +Pete paid no attention to them, but marched up to the fire. Old +Montoya rose and greeted him pleasantly. Another Mexican, a slim +youth, bashfully acknowledged Pete's presence and called in the dogs. +Pete, who had known many outland camp-fires, made himself at home, +sitting cross-legged and affecting a mature indifference. The old +Mexican smoked and studied the youngster, amused by his evident attempt +to appear grown-up and disinterested. + +"That gun, he poke you in the rib, hey?"--and Montoya chuckled. + +Pete flushed and glanced down at the half-concealed weapon beneath his +arm. "Tied her on with string--ain't got no shoulder holster," Pete +explained in an offhand way. + +"What you do with him?" The old Mexican's deep-set eyes twinkled. +Pete studied Montoya's face. This was a direct but apparently friendly +query. Pete wondered if he should answer evasively or directly. The +fact was that he did not know just why he had taken the gun--or what he +intended to do with it. After all, it was none of Montoya's business, +yet Pete did not wish to offend the old man. He wanted to hear more +about gun-fights with the cattlemen. + +"Well, seein' it's you, senor,"--Pete adopted the grand air as most +befitting the occasion,--"I'm packin' this here gun to fight +cow-punchers with. Reckon you don't know some cow-punchers killed my +dad. I was just a kid then. [Pete was now nearly fourteen.] Some day +I'm goin' to git the man what killed him." + +Montoya did not smile. This muchacho evidently had spirit. Pete's +invention, made on the spur of the moment, had hit "plumb center," as +he told himself. For Montoya immediately became gracious, proffered +Pete tobacco and papers, and suggested coffee, which the young Mexican +made while Pete and the old man chatted. Pete was deeply impressed by +his reception. He felt that he had made a hit with Montoya--and that +the other had taken him seriously. Most men did not, despite the fact +that he was accredited with having slain two T-Bar-T cowboys. A +strange sympathy grew between this old Mexican and the lean, +bright-eyed young boy. Perhaps Pete's swarthy coloring and black eyes +had something to do with it. Possibly Pete's assurance, as contrasted +with the bashfulness and timidity of the old Mexican's nephew, had +something to do with Montoya's immediate friendliness. In any event, +the visit ended with an invitation to Pete to become a permanent member +of the sheep-camp, Montoya explaining that his nephew wanted to go +home; that he did not like the loneliness of a herder's life. + +Pete had witnessed too many horse-trades to accept this proposal at +once. His face expressed deep cogitation, as he flicked the ashes from +his cigarette and shook his head. "I dunno. Roth is a pretty good +boss. 'Course, he ain't no gun-fighter--and that's kind of in your +favor--" + +"What hombre say I make fight with gun?" queried Montoya. + +"Why, everybody! I reckon they's mighty few of 'em want to stack up +against you." + +Montoya frowned. "I don' talk like that," he said, shrugging his +shoulders. + +Pete felt that he was getting in deep--but he had a happy inspiration. +"You don't have to talk. Your ole forty-four does the talking I +reckon." + +"You come and cook?" queried Montoya, coming straight to the point. + +"I dunno, amigo. I'll think about it." + +"Bueno. It is dark, I will walk with you to Concho." + +"You think I'm a kid?" flared Pete. "If was dark when I come over here +and it ain't any darker now. I ain't no doggone cow-puncher what's got +to git on a hoss afore he dast go anywhere." + +Montoya laughed. "You come to-morrow night, eh?" + +"Reckon I will." + +"Then the camp will be over there--in the canon. You will see the +fire." + +"I'll come over and have a talk anyway," said Pete, still unwilling to +let Montoya think him anxious. "Buenos noches!" + +Montoya nodded. "He will come," he said to his nephew. "Then it is +that you may go to the home. He is small--but of the very great +courage." + +The following evening Pete appeared at the herder's camp. The dogs ran +out, sniffed at him, and returned to the fire. Montoya made a place +for him on the thick sheepskins and asked him if he had eaten. Yes, he +had had supper, but he had no blankets. Could Montoya let him have a +blanket until he had earned enough money to buy one? + +The old herder told him that he could have the nephew's blankets; Pedro +was to leave camp next day and go home. As for money, Montoya did not +pay wages. Of course, for tobacco, or a coat or pants, he could have +the money when he needed them. + +Pete felt a bit taken aback. He had burnt his bridges--he could not +return to Concho--yet he wanted a definite wage. "I kin pack--make and +break camp--and sure cook the frijoles. Pop learned me all that; but +he was payin' me a dollar a week. He said I was jest as good as a man. +A dollar a week ain't much." + +The old herder shook his head. "Not until I sell the wool can I pay." + +"When do you sell that wool?" + +"When the pay for it is good. Sometimes I wait." + +"Well, I kin see where I don't get rich herdin' sheep." + +"We shall see. Perhaps, if you are a good boy--" + +"You got me wrong, senor. Roth he said I was the limit--and even my +old pop said I was a tough kid. I ain't doin' this for my health. I +hooked up with you 'cause I kinda thought--" + +"Si?" + +"Well, Roth was tellin' as how you could make a six-gun smoke faster +than most any hombre a-livin'. Now, I was figurin' if you would show +me how to work this ole smoke-wagon here"--and Pete touched the huge +lump beneath his shirt--"why, that would kinda be like wages--but I +ain't got no money to buy cartridges." + +"I, Jose de la Crux Montoya, will show you how to work him. It is a +big gun for such a chico." + +"Oh, I reckon I kin hold her down. When do we start the shootin' +match?" + +Montoya smiled. + +"Manana, perhaps." + +"Then that's settled!" Pete heaved a sigh. "But how am I goin' to git +them cartridges?" + +"From the store." + +"That's all right. But how many do I git for workin' for you?" + +Montoya laughed outright. "You will become a good man with the sheep. +You will not waste the flour and the beans and the coffee and the +sugar, like Pedro here. You will count and not say--'Oh, I think it's +so much'--and because of that I will buy you two boxes of cartridges." + +"Two boxes--a hundred a month?" + +"Even so. You will waste many until you learn." + +"Shake!" said Pete. "That suits me! And if any doggone ole brush-cats +or lion or bear come pokin' around this here camp, we'll sure smoke 'em +up. And if any of them cow-chasers from the mountain or the Concho +starts monkeyin' with our sheep, there's sure goin' to be a cowboy +funeral in these parts! You done hired a good man when you hired me!" + +"We shall see," said Montoya, greatly amused. "But there is much work +to be done as well as the shooting." + +"I'll be there!" exclaimed Pete. "What makes them sheep keep a-moanin' +and a-bawlin' and a-shufflin' round? Don't they never git to sleep?" + +"Si, but it is a new camp. To-morrow night they will be quiet. It is +always so." + +"Well, they sure make enough noise. When do we git goin'?" + +"Pedro, he will leave manana. In two days we will move the camp." + +"All right. I don't reckon Roth would be lookin' for me in any +sheep-camp anyhow." Young Pete was not afraid of the storekeeper, but +the fact that he had taken the gun troubled him, even though he had +left a note explaining that he took the gun in lieu of wages. He +shared Pedro's blankets, but slept little. The sheep milled and bawled +most of the night. Even before daybreak Pete was up and building a +fire. The sheep poured from the bedding-ground and pattered down to +the canon stream. Later they spread out across the wide canon-bottom +and grazed, watched by the dogs. + +Full-fed and happy, Young Pete helped Pedro clean the camp-utensils. +The morning sun, pushing up past the canon-rim, picked out the details +of the camp one by one--the smouldering fire of cedar wood, the packs, +saddles and ropes, the water-cask, the lazy burros waiting for the sun +to warm them to action, the blankets and sheepskin bedding, and farther +down the canon a still figure standing on a slight rise of ground and +gazing into space--the figure of Jose de la Crux Montoya, the +sheep-herder whom Roth had said feared no man and was a dead shot. + +Pete knew Spanish--he had heard little else spoken in Concho--and he +thought that "Joseph of the Cross" was a strange name for a recognized +gunman. "But Mexicans always stick crosses over graves," soliloquized +Pete. "Mebby that's why he's got that fancy name. Gee! But this sure +beats tendin' store!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +NEW VISTAS + +Much that Annersley had taught Pete was undone in the lazy, listless +life of the sheep-camp. There was a certain slow progressiveness about +it, however, that saved it from absolute monotony. Each day the sheep +grazed out, the distance being automatically adjusted by the coming of +night, when they were bunched and slowly drifted back to the +bedding-ground. A day or two--depending on the grazing--and they were +bedded in a new place as the herder worked toward the low country +followed by a recurrent crispness in the air that presaged the coming +of winter in the hills. Pete soon realized that, despite their seeming +independence, sheep-men were slaves of the seasons. They "followed the +grass" and fled from cold weather and snow. At times, if the winter +was severe in the lower levels, they even had to winter-feed to save +the band. Lambs became tired or sick--unable to follow the ewes--and +Pete often found some lone lamb hiding beneath a clump of brush where +it would have perished had he not carried it on to the flock and +watched it until it grew stronger. He learned that sheep were +gregarious--that a sheep left alone on the mesa, no matter how strong, +through sheer loneliness would cease to eat and slowly starve to death. +Used to horses, Pete looked upon sheep with contempt. They had neither +individual nor collective intelligence. Let them once become +frightened and if not immediately headed off by the dogs, they would +stampede over the brink of an arroyo and trample each other to death. +This all but happened once when Montoya was buying provisions in town +and Pete was in charge of the band. The camp was below the rim of a +canon. The sheep were scattered over a mile or so of mesa, grazing +contentedly. The dogs, out-posted on either side of the flock, were +resting, but alert. To the left, some distance from the sheep, was the +canon-rim and a trail, gatewayed by two huge boulders, man-high, with +about enough space between them for a burro to pass. A horse could +hardly have squeezed through. Each night the sheep were headed for +this pass and worked through, one at a time, stringing down the trail +below which was steep and sandy. At the canon bottom was water and +across the shallows were the bedding-grounds and the camp. Pete, +drowsing in the sun, occasionally glanced up at the flock. He saw no +need for standing up, as Montoya always did when out with the band. +The sheep were all right--and the day was hot. Presently Pete became +interested in a mighty battle between a colony of red ants which seemed +to be attacking a colony of big black ants that had in some way +infringed on some international agreement, or overstepped the +color-line. Pete picked up a twig and hastily scraped up a sand +barricade, to protect the red ants, who, despite their valor, seemed to +be getting the worst of it. Black ants scurried to the top of the +barricade to be grappled by the tiny red ants, who fought valiantly. +Pete saw a red ant meet one of the enemy who was twice his size, +wrestle with him and finally best him. Evidently this particular black +ant, though deceased, was of some importance, possibly an officer, for +the little red ant seized him and bore him bodily to the rear where he +in turn collapsed and was carried to the adjoining ant-hill by two of +his comrades evidently detailed on ambulance work. "Everybody +scraps--even the bugs," said Pete. "Them little red cusses sure ain't +scared o' nothin'." Stream after stream of red ants hastened to +reinforce their comrades on the barricade. The battle became general. +Pete grew excited. He was scraping up another barricade when he heard +one of the dogs bark. He glanced up. The sheep, frightened by a +buzzard that had swooped unusually close to them, bunched and shot +toward the canon in a cloud of dust. Pete jumped to his feet and ran +swiftly toward the rock gateway to head them off. He knew that they +would make for the trail, and that those that did not get through the +pass would trample the weaker sheep to death. The dog on the canon +side of the band raced across their course, snapping at the foremost in +a sturdy endeavor to turn them. But he could not. He ran, nipped a +sheep, and then jumped back to save himself from being cut to pieces by +the blundering feet. Young Pete saw that he could not reach the pass +ahead of them. Out of breath and half-sobbing as he realized the +futility of his effort, he suddenly recalled an incident like this when +Montoya, failing to head the band in a similar situation, had coolly +shot the leader and had broken the stampede. + +Pete immediately sat down, and rested the barrel of his six-shooter on +his knee. He centered on the pass. A few seconds--and a big ram, +several feet ahead of the others, dashed into the notch. Pete grasped +his gun with both hands and fired. The ram reared and dropped just +within the rocky gateway. Pete saw another sheep jump over the ram and +disappear. Pete centered on the notch again and as the gray mass +bunched and crowded together to get through, he fired. Another sheep +toppled and fell. Still the sheep rushed on, crowding against the +rocks and trampling each other in a frantic endeavor to get through. +Occasionally one of the leaders leaped over the two dead sheep and +disappeared down the trail. But the first force of their stampede was +checked. Dropping his gun, Pete jumped up and footed it for the notch, +waving his hat as he ran. Bleating and bawling, the band turned slowly +and swung parallel to the canon-rim. The dogs, realizing that they +could now turn the sheep back, joined forces, and running a ticklish +race along the very edge of the canon, headed the band toward the safe +ground to the west. Pete, as he said later, "cussed 'em a plenty." +When he took up his station between the band and the canon, wondering +what Montoya would say when he returned. + +When the old Mexican, hazing the burros across the mesa, saw Pete wave +his hat, he knew that something unusual had happened. Montoya shrugged +his shoulders as Pete told of the stampede. + +"So it is with the sheep," said Montoya casually. "These we will take +away, for the sheep will smell the blood and not go down the trail." +And he pointed to the ram and the ewe that Pete had shot. "I will go +to the camp and unpack. You have killed two good sheep, but you have +saved many." + +Pete said nothing about the battle of the ants. He knew that he had +been remiss, but he thought that in eventually turning the sheep he had +made up for it. + +And because Pete was energetic, self-reliant, and steady, capable of +taking the burros into town and packing back provisions promptly--for +Pete, unlike most boys, did not care to loaf about town--the old herder +became exceedingly fond of him, although he seldom showed it in a +direct way. Rather, he taught Pete Mexican--colloquialisms and idioms +that are not found in books--until Pete, who already knew enough of the +language to get along handily, became thoroughly at home whenever he +chanced to meet a Mexican--herder, cowboy, or storekeeper. Naturally, +Pete did not appreciate the value of this until later--when his +familiarity with the language helped him out of many a tight place. +But what Pete did appreciate was the old herder's skill with the +six-gun--his uncanny ability to shoot from any position on the instant +and to use the gun with either hand with equal facility. In one of the +desert towns Pete had traded a mountain-lion skin for a belt and +holster and several boxes of cartridges to boot, for Pete was keen at +bargaining. Later the old Mexican cut down the belt to fit Pete and +taught him how to hang the gun to the best advantage. Then he taught +Pete to "draw," impressing upon him that while accuracy was exceedingly +desirable, a quick draw was absolutely essential. Pete practiced early +and late, more than disgusted because Montoya made him practice with an +empty gun. He "threw down" on moving sheep, the dogs, an occasional +distant horseman, and even on Montoya himself, but never until the old +herder had examined the weapon and assured himself that he would not be +suddenly bumped off into glory by his ambitious assistant. As some men +play cards, partly for amusement and partly to keep their hands in, so +Pete and Montoya played the six-gun game, and neither seemed to tire of +the amusement. Montoya frequently unloaded his own gun and making sure +that Pete had done likewise, the old herder would stand opposite him +and count--"Una, duo, tres," and the twain would "go for their guns" to +see who would get in the first theoretical shot. At first Pete was +slow. His gun was too heavy for him and his wrist was not quick. But +he stuck to it until finally he could draw and shoot almost as fast as +his teacher. Later they practiced while sitting down, while reclining +propped on one elbow, and finally from a prone position, where Pete +learned to roll sideways, draw and shoot even as a side-winder of the +desert strikes without coiling. Montoya taught him to throw a shot +over his shoulder, to "roll" his gun, to pretend to surrender it, and, +handing it out butt first, flip it over and shoot the theoretical +enemy. He also taught him one trick which, while not considered +legitimate by most professional gunmen, was exceedingly worth while on +account of its deadly unexpectedness--and that was to shoot through the +open holster without drawing the gun. Such practice allowed of only a +limited range, never higher than a man's belt, but as Montoya +explained, a shot belt-high and center was most effective. + +Pete took an almost vicious delight in perfecting himself in this +trick. He knew of most of the other methods--but shooting with the gun +in the holster was difficult and for close-range work, and just in +proportion to its difficulty Pete persevered. + +He was fond of Montoya in an offhand way, but with the lessons in +gunmanship his fondness became almost reverence for the old man's easy +skill and accuracy. Despite their increasing friendliness, Pete could +never get Montoya to admit that he had killed a man--and Pete thought +this strange, at that time. + +Pete's lessons were not always without grief. Montoya, ordinarily +genial, was a hard master to please. Finally, when Pete was allowed to +use ammunition in his practice, and insisted on sighting at an object, +Montoya reproved him sharply for wasting time. "It is like this," he +would say; illustrating on the instant he would throw a shot into the +chance target without apparent aim. Once he made Pete put down his gun +and take up a handful of stones. "Now shoot," he said. Pete, much +chagrined, pelted the stones rapidly at the empty can target. To his +surprise he missed it only once. "Now shoot him like that," said +Montoya. Pete, chafing because of this "kid stuff," as he called the +stone-throwing, picked up his gun and "threw" five shots at the can. +He was angry and he shot fast, but he hit the can twice. From that +minute he "caught on." Speed tended toward accuracy, premising one was +used to the "feel" of a gun. And accuracy tended toward speed, giving +one assurance. Even as one must throw a stone with speed to be +accurate, so one must shoot with speed. It was all easy enough--like +everything else--when you had the hang of it. + +How often a hero of fiction steps into a story--or rides into it--whose +deadly accuracy, lightning-like swiftness, appalling freedom from +accident, ostrich-like stomach and camel-like ability to go without +water, earn him the plaudits of a legion of admiring readers. Apropos +of such a hero, your old-timer will tell you, "that there ain't no such +animal." If your old-timer is a friend--perchance carrying the +never-mentioned scars of cattle-wars and frontier raids--he may tell +you that many of the greatest gunmen practiced early and late, spent +all their spare money on ammunition, never "showed-off" before an +audience, always took careful advantage of every fighting chance, saved +their horses and themselves from undue fatigue when possible, never +killed a man when they could avoid killing him, bore themselves +quietly, didn't know the meaning of Romance, but were strong for +utility, and withal worked as hard and suffered as much in becoming +proficient in their vocation as the veriest artisan of the cities. +Circumstances, hazard, untoward event, even inclination toward +excitement, made some of these men heroes, but never in their own eyes. +There were exceptions, of course, but most of the exceptions were +buried. + +And Young Pete, least of all, dreamed of becoming a hero. He liked +guns and all that pertained to them. The feel of a six-shooter in his +hand gave him absolute pleasure. The sound of a six-shooter was music +to him, and the potency contained in the polished cylinder filled with +blunt-nosed slugs was something that he could appreciate. He was a +born gunman, as yet only in love with the tools of his trade, +interested more in the manipulation than in eventual results. He +wished to become expert, but in becoming expert he forgot for the time +being his original intent of eventually becoming the avenger of +Annersley. Pride in his ability to draw quick and shoot straight, with +an occasional word of praise from old Montoya, pretty well satisfied +him. When he was not practicing he was working, and thought only of +the task at hand. + +Pete was generally liked in the towns where he occasionally bought +provisions. He was known as "Montoya's boy," and the townsfolk had a +high respect for the old Mexican. One circumstance, however, ruffled +the placid tenor of his way and tended to give him the reputation of +being a "bronco muchacho"--a rough boy; literally a bad boy, as white +folks would have called him. + +Montoya sent him into town for some supplies. As usual, Pete rode one +of the burros. It was customary for Pete to leave his gun in camp when +going to town. Montoya had suggested that he do this, as much for +Pete's sake as for anything else. The old man knew that slightly older +boys were apt to make fun of Pete for packing such a disproportionately +large gun--or, in fact, for packing any gun at all. And Montoya also +feared that Pete might get into trouble. Pete was pugnacious, +independent, and while always possessing enough humor to hold his own +in a wordy argument, he had much pride, considering himself the equal +of any man and quite above the run of youths of the towns. And he +disliked Mexicans--Montoya being the one exception. This morning he +did not pack his gun, but hung it on the cross-tree of the pack-saddle. +There were many brush rabbits on the mesa, and they made interesting +targets. + +About noon he arrived at the town--Laguna. He bought the few +provisions necessary and piled them on the ground near his burros. He +had brought some cold meat and bread with him which he ate, squatted +out in front of the store. Several young loafers gathered round and +held high argument among themselves as to whether Pete was a Mexican or +not. This in itself was not altogether pleasing to Pete. He knew that +he was tanned to a swarthy hue, was naturally of a dark complexion, and +possessed black hair and eyes. But his blood rebelled at even the +suggestion that he was a Mexican. He munched his bread and meat, +tossed the crumbs to a stray dog and rolled a cigarette. One of the +Mexican boys asked him for tobacco and papers. Pete gladly proffered +"the makings." The Mexican youth rolled a cigarette and passed the +sack of tobacco to his companions. Pete eyed this breach of etiquette +sternly, and received the sack back, all but empty. But still he said +nothing, but rose and entering the store--a rambling, flat-roofed +adobe--bought another sack of tobacco. When he came out the boys were +laughing. He caught a word or two which drove the jest home. In the +vernacular, he was "an easy mark." + +"Mebby I am," he said in Mexican. "But I got the price to buy my +smokes. I ain't no doggone loafer." + +The Mexican youth who had asked for the tobacco retorted with some more +or less vile language, intimating that Pete was neither Mexican nor +white--an insult compared to which mere anathema was as nothing. Pete +knew that if he started a row he would get properly licked--that the +boys would all pile on him and chase him out of town. So he turned his +back on the group and proceeded to pack the burros. The Mexican boys +forgot the recent unpleasantness in watching him pack. They realized +that he knew his business. But Pete was not through with them yet. +When he had the burros in shape to travel he picked up the stick with +which he hazed them and faced the group. What he said to them was +enough with some to spare for future cogitation. He surpassed mere +invective with flaming innuendos as to the ancestry, habits, and +appearance of these special gentlemen and of Mexicans in general. He +knew Mexicans and knew where he could hit hardest. He wound up with +gentle intimation that the town would have made a respectable pigsty, +but that a decent pig would have a hard time keeping his self-respect +among so many descendants of the canine tribe. It was a beautiful, an +eloquent piece of work, and even as he delivered it he felt rather +proud of his command of the Mexican idiom. Then he made a mistake. He +promptly turned his back and started the burros toward the distant +camp. Had he kept half an eye on the boys he might have avoided +trouble. But he had turned his back. They thought that he was both +angry and afraid. They also made a slight mistake. The youth who had +borrowed the tobacco and who had taken most of Pete's eloquence to +heart--for he had inspired it--called the dog that lay back of them in +the shade and set him on Pete and the burros. If a burro hates +anything it is to be attacked by a dog. Pete whirled and swung his +stick. The dog, a huge, lean, coyote-faced animal, dodged and snapped +at the nearest burro's heels. That placid animal promptly bucked and +ran. His brother burro took the cue and did likewise. Presently the +immediate half-mile square was decorated with loose provisions--sugar, +beans, flour, a few cans of tomatoes, and chiles broken from the sack +and strung out in every direction. The burros became a seething cloud +of dust in the distance. Pete chased the dog which naturally circled +and ran back of the group of the store. Older Mexicans gathered and +laughed. The boys, feeling secure in the presence of their seniors, +added their shrill yelps of pleasure. Pete, boiling internally, +white-faced and altogether too quiet, slowly gathered up what +provisions were usable. Presently he came upon his gun, which had been +bucked from the pack-saddle. The Mexicans were still laughing when he +strode back to the store. The dog, scenting trouble, bristled and +snarled, baring his long fangs and standing with one forefoot raised. +Before the assembly realized what had happened, Pete had whipped out +his gun. With the crash of the shot the dog doubled up and dropped in +his tracks. The boys scattered and ran. Pete cut loose in their +general direction. They ran faster. The older folk, chattering and +scolding, backed into the store. "Montoya's boy was loco. He would +kill somebody!" Some of the women crossed themselves. The +storekeeper, who knew Pete slightly, ventured out. He argued with +Pete, who blinked and nodded, but would not put up his gun. The +Mexicans feared him for the very fact that he was a boy and might do +anything. Had he been a man he might have been shot. But this did not +occur to Pete. He was fighting mad. His burros were gone and his +provisions scattered, save a few canned tomatoes that had not suffered +damage. The storekeeper started toward him. Pete centered on that +worthy's belt-buckle and told him to stay where he was. + +"I'll blow a hole in you that you can drive a team through if you come +near me!" asserted Pete. "I come in here peaceful, and you doggone +Cholas wrecked my outfit and stampeded my burros; but they ain't no +Mexican can run a whizzer on me twict. I'm white--see!" + +"It is not I that did this thing," said the storekeeper. + +"No, but the doggone town did! I reckon when Jose Montoya comes in and +wants his grub, you'll settle all right. And he's comin'!" + +"Then you will go and not shoot any one?" + +"When I git ready. But you kin tell your outfit that the first Chola +that follows me is goin' to run up ag'inst a slug that'll bust him wide +open. I'm goin'--but I'm comin' back." + +Pete, satisfied that he had conducted himself in a manner befitting the +occasion, backed away a few steps and finally turned and marched across +the mesa. They had wrecked his outfit. He'd show 'em! Old Montoya +knew that something was wrong when the burros drifted in with their +pack-saddles askew. He thought that possibly some coyote had stampeded +them. He righted the pack-saddles and drove the burros back toward +Laguna. Halfway across the mesa he met Pete, who told him what had +happened. Montoya said nothing. Pete had hoped that his master would +rave and threaten all sorts of vengeance. But the old man simply +nodded, and plodding along back of the burros, finally entered Laguna +and strode up to the store. All sorts of stories were afloat, stories +which Montoya discounted liberally, because he knew Pete. The owner of +the dog claimed damages. Montoya, smiling inwardly, referred that +gentleman to Pete, who stood close to his employer, hoping that he +would start a real row, but pretty certain that he would not. That was +Montoya's way. The scattered provisions as far as possible were +salvaged and fresh supplies loaded on the burros. When Montoya was +ready to leave he turned to the few Mexicans in front of the store: +"When I send my boy in here for flour and the beans and the sugar, it +will be well to keep the dogs away--and to remember that it is Jose de +la Crux that has sent him. For the new provisions I do not pay. +Adios, senors." + +Pete thought that this was rather tame--but still Montoya's manner was +decidedly business-like. No one controverted him--not even the +storekeeper, who was the loser. + +A small crowd had assembled. Excitement such as this was rare in +Laguna. While still in plain sight of the group about the store, and +as Montoya plodded slowly along behind the burros, Pete turned and +launched his parthian shot--that eloquently expressive gesture of +contempt and scorn wherein is employed the thumb, the nose, and the +outspread fingers of one hand. He was still very much a boy. + +About a year later--after drifting across a big territory of grazing +land, winter-feeding the sheep near Largo, and while preparing to drive +south again and into the high country--Pete met young Andy White, a +clean-cut, sprightly cowboy riding for the Concho outfit. Andy had +ridden down to Largo on some errand or other and had tied his pony in +front of the store when Montoya's sheep billowed down the street and +frightened the pony. Young Pete, hazing the burros, saw the pony pull +back and break the reins, whirl and dash out into the open and circle +the mesa with head and tail up. It was a young horse, not actually +wild, but decidedly frisky. Pete had not been on a horse for many +months. The beautiful pony, stamping and snorting in the morning sun, +thrilled Pete clear to his toes. To ride--anywhere--what a contrast to +plodding along with the burros! To feel a horse between his knees +again! To swing up and ride--ride across the mesa to that dim line of +hills where the sun touched the blue of the timber and the gold of the +quaking-asp and burned softly on the far woodland trail that led south +and south across the silent ranges! Pete snatched a rope from the pack +and walked out toward the pony. That good animal, a bit afraid of the +queer figure in the flapping overalls and flop-brimmed sombrero, +snorted and swung around facing him. Dragging his rope, Pete walked +slowly forward. The pony stopped and flung up its head. Pete flipped +the loop and set back on his heels. The rope ran taut. Pete was +prepared for the usual battle, but the pony, instead, "came to the +rope" and sniffed curiously at Pete, who patted his nose and talked to +him. Assured that his strange captor knew horses, the pony allowed him +to slip the rope round his nose and mount without even sidling. Pete +was happy. This was something like! As for Montoya and the +sheep--they were drifting on in a cloud of dust, the burros following +placidly. + +"You sure caught him slick." + +Pete nodded to the bright-faced young cowboy who had stepped up to him. +Andy White was older than Pete, heavier and taller, with keen blue eyes +and an expression as frank and fearless as the morning itself. In +contrast, Young Pete was lithe and dark, his face was more mature, more +serious, and his black eyes seemed to see everything at a glance--a +quick, indifferent glance that told no one what was behind the +expression. Andy was light-skinned and ruddy. Pete was swarthy and +black-haired. For a second or so they stood, then White genially +thrust out his hand. "Thanks!" he said heartily. "You sabe 'em." + +It was a little thing to say and yet it touched Pete's pride. Deep in +his heart he was a bit ashamed of consorting with a sheep-herder--a +Mexican; and to be recognized as being familiar with horses pleased him +more than his countenance showed. "Yes. I handled 'em +some--tradin'--when I was a kid." + +Andy glanced at the boyish figure and smiled. "You're wastin' good +time with that outfit,"--and he gestured with his thumb toward the +sheep. + +"Oh, I dunno. Jose Montoya ain't so slow--with a gun." + +Andy White laughed. "Old Crux ain't a bad old scout--but you ain't a +Mexican. Anybody can see that!" + +"Well, just for fun--suppose I was." + +"It would be different," said Andy. "You're white, all right!" + +"Meanin' my catchin' your cayuse. Well, anybody'd do that." + +"They ain't nothin' to drink but belly-wash in this town," said Andy +boyishly. "But you come along down to the store an' I'll buy." + +"I'll go you! I see you're ridin' for the Concho." + +"Uh-huh, a year." + +Pete walked beside this new companion and Pete was thinking hard. +"What's your name?" he queried suddenly. + +"White--Andy White. What's yours?" + +"Pete Annersley," he replied proudly. + +They sat outside the store and drank bottled pop and swapped youthful +yarns of the range and camp until Pete decided that he had better go. +But his heart was no longer with the sheep. + +He rose and shook hands with Andy. "If you git a chanct, ride over to +our camp sometime. I'm goin' up the Largo. You can find us. +Mebby"--and he hesitated, eying the pony--"mebby I might git a chanct +to tie up to your outfit. I'm sick of the woolies." + +"Don't blame you, amigo. If I hear of anything I'll come a-fannin' and +tell you. So-long. She's one lovely mornin'." + +Pete turned and plodded down the dusty road. Far ahead the sheep +shuffled along, the dogs on either side of the band and old Montoya +trudging behind and driving the burros. Pete said nothing as he caught +up with Montoya, merely taking his place and hazing the burros toward +their first camp in the canon. + +It was an aimless life, with little chance of excitement; but riding +range--that was worth while! Already Pete had outgrown any sense of +dependency on the old Mexican. He felt that he was his own man. He +had been literally raised with the horses and until this morning he had +not missed them so much. But the pony and the sprightly young cowboy, +with his keen, smiling face and swinging chaps, had stirred longings in +Young Pete's heart that no amount of ease or outdoor freedom with the +sheep could satisfy. He wanted action. His life with Montoya had made +him careless but not indolent. He felt a touch of shame, realizing +that such a thought was disloyal to Montoya, who had done so much for +him. But what sentiment Pete had, ceased immediately, however, when +the main chance loomed, and he thought he saw his fortune shaping +toward the range and the cow-ponies. He had liked Andy White from the +beginning. Perhaps they could arrange to ride together if he (Pete) +could get work with the Concho outfit. The gist of it all was that +Pete was lonely and did not realize it. Montoya was much older, grave, +and often silent for days. He seemed satisfied with the life. Pete, +in his way, had aspirations--vague as yet, but slowly shaping toward a +higher plane than the herding of sheep. He had had experiences enough +for a man twice his age, and he knew that he had ability. As Andy +White had said, it was wasting good time, this sheep-herding. Well, +perhaps something would turn up. In the meantime there was camp to +make, water to pack, and plenty of easy detail to take up his immediate +time. Perhaps he would talk with Montoya after supper about making a +change. Perhaps not. It might be better to wait until he saw Andy +White again. + +In camp that night Montoya asked Pete if he were sick. Pete shook his +head; "Jest thinkin'," he replied. + +Old Montoya, wise in his way, knew that something had occurred, yet he +asked no further questions, but rolled a cigarette and smoked, +wondering whether Young Pete were dissatisfied with the pay he gave +him--for Pete now got two dollars a week and his meals. Montoya +thought of offering him more. The boy was worth more. But he would +wait. If Pete showed any disposition to leave, then would be time +enough to speak. So they sat by the fire in the keen evening air, each +busy with his own thoughts, while the restless sheep bedded down, +bleating and shuffling, and the dogs lay with noses toward the fire, +apparently dozing, but ever alert for a stampede; alert for any +possibility--even as were Montoya and Pete, although outwardly placid +and silent. + +Next morning, after the sheep were out, Pete picked up a pack-rope and +amused himself by flipping the loop on the burros, the clumps of brush, +stubs, and limbs, keeping at it until the old herder noticed and +nodded. "He is thinking of the cattle," soliloquized Montoya. "I will +have to get a new boy some day. But he will speak, and then I shall +know." + +While Pete practiced with the rope he was figuring how long it would +take him to save exactly eighteen dollars and a half, for that was the +price of a Colt's gun such as he had taken from the store at Concho. +Why he should think of saving the money for a gun is not quite clear. +He already had one. Possibly because they were drifting back toward +the town of Concho, Pete wished to be prepared in case Roth asked him +about the gun. Pete had eleven dollars pinned in the watch-pocket of +his overalls. In three weeks, at most, they would drive past Concho. +He would then have seventeen dollars. Among his personal effects he +had two bobcat skins and a coyote-hide. Perhaps he could sell them for +a dollar or two. How often did Andy White ride the Largo Canon? The +Concho cattle grazed to the east. Perhaps White had forgotten his +promise to ride over some evening. Pete swung his loop and roped a +clump of brush. "I'll sure forefoot you, you doggone longhorn!" he +said. "I'll git my iron on you, you maverick! I'm the Ridin' Kid from +Powder River, and I ride 'em straight up an' comin'." So he romanced, +his feet on the ground, but his heart with the bawling herd and the +charging ponies. "Like to rope a lion," he told himself as he swung +his rope again. "Same as High-Chin Bob." Just then one of the dogs, +attracted by Pete's unusual behavior, trotted up. + +Pete's rope shot out and dropped. The dog had never been roped. His +dignity was assaulted. He yelped and started straightway for Montoya, +who stood near the band, gazing, as ever, into space. Just as the rope +came taut, Pete's foot slipped and he lost the rope. The dog, +frightened out of his wits, charged down on the sheep. The trailing +rope startled them. They sagged in, crowding away from the +terror-stricken dog. Fear, among sheep, spreads like fire in dry +grass. In five seconds the band was running, with Montoya calling to +the dogs and Pete trying to capture the flying cause of the trouble. + +When the sheep were turned and had resumed their grazing, Montoya, who +had caught the roped dog, strode to Pete. "It was a bad thing to do," +he said easily. "Why did you rope him?" + +Pete scowled and stammered. "Thought he was a lion. He came a-tearin' +up, and I was thinkin' o' lions. So, I jest nacherally loops him. I +was praticin'." + +"First it was the gun. Now it is the rope," said Montoya, smiling. +"You make a vaquero, some day, I think." + +"Oh, mebby. But I sure won't quit you till you get 'em over the range, +even if I do git a chanct to ride for some outfit. But I ain't got a +job, yet." + +"I would not like to have you go," said Montoya. "You are a good boy." + +Pete had nothing to say. He wished Montoya had not called him "a good +boy." That hurt. If Montoya had only scolded him for stampeding the +sheep. . . . But Montoya had spoken in a kindly way. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +PLANS + +Several nights later a horseman rode into Montoya's camp. Pete, +getting supper, pretended great indifference until he heard the +horseman's voice. It was young Andy White who had come to visit, as he +had promised. Pete's heart went warm, and he immediately found an +extra tin plate and put more coffee in the pot. He was glad to see +White, but he was not going to let White know how glad. He greeted the +young cowboy in an offhand way, taking the attitude of being so +engrossed with cooking that he could not pay great attention to a stray +horseman just then. But later in the evening, after they had eaten, +the two youths chatted and smoked while Montoya listened and gazed out +across the evening mesa. He understood. Pete was tired of the sheep +and would sooner or later take up with the cattle. That was natural +enough. He liked Pete; really felt as a father toward him. And the +old Mexican, who was skilled in working leather, thought of the +hand-carved holster and belt that he had been working on during his +spare time--a present that he had intended giving Pete when it was +completed. There was still a little work to do on the holster; the +flower pattern in the center was not quite finished. To-morrow he +would finish it--for he wanted to have it ready. If Pete stayed with +him, he would have it--and if Pete left he should have something by +which to remember Jose de la Crux Montoya--something to remember him +by, and something useful--for even then Montoya realized that if Young +Pete survived the present hazards that challenged youth and an +adventurous heart, some day, as a man grown, Pete would thoroughly +appreciate the gift. A good holster, built on the right lines and one +from which a gun came easily, would be very useful to a man of Pete's +inclinations. And when it came to the fit and hang of a holster, +Montoya knew his business. + +Three weeks later, almost to a day, the sheep were grazing below the +town of Concho, near the camp where Pete had first visited Montoya and +elected to work for him. On the higher levels several miles to the +east was the great cattle outfit of the Concho; the home-buildings, +corrals, and stables. Pete had seen some of the Concho boys--chance +visitors at the homestead on the Blue--and he had been thinking of +these as the sheep drifted toward Concho. After all, he was not +equipped to ride, as he had no saddle, bridle, chaps, boots, and not +even a first-class rope. Pete had too much pride to acknowledge his +lack of riding-gear or the wherewithal to purchase it, even should he +tie up with the Concho boys. So when Andy White, again visiting the +sheep-camp, told Pete that the Concho foreman had offered no +encouragement in regard to an extra hand, Pete nodded as though the +matter were of slight consequence, which had the effect of stirring +Andy to renewed eloquence anent the subject--as Pete had hoped. The +boys discussed ways and means. There was much discussion, but no +visible ways and means. Andy's entire wealth was invested in his own +gay trappings. Pete possessed something like seventeen dollars. But +there is nothing impossible to youth--for when youth realizes the +impossible, youth has grown a beard and fears the fire. + +Both boys knew that there were many poor Mexicans in the town of Concho +who, when under the expansive influence of wine, would part with almost +anything they or their neighbors possessed, for a consideration. There +were Mexicans who would sell horse, saddle, and bridle for that amount, +especially when thirsty--for seventeen dollars meant unlimited vino and +a swaggering good time--for a time. Pete knew this only too well. He +suggested the idea to Andy, who concurred with enthusiasm. + +"Cholas is no good anyhow," blurted Andy. "You ain't robbin' nobody +when you buy a Chola outfit. Let's go!" + +Montoya, who sat by the fire, coughed. + +"'Course, I was meanin' some Cholas," said Andy. + +The old herder smiled to himself. The boys amused him. He had been +young once--and very poor. And he had ridden range in his youthful +days. A mild fatalist, he knew that Pete would not stay long, and +Montoya was big enough not to begrudge the muchacho any happiness. + +"I'm goin' over to town for a spell," explained Pete. + +Montoya nodded. + +"I'm comin' back," Pete added, a bit embarrassed. + +"Bueno. I shall be here." + +Pete, a bit flustered, did not quite catch the mild sarcasm, but he +breathed more freely when they were out of sight of camp. "He's sure a +white Mexican," he told Andy. "I kind o' hate to leave him, at that." + +"You ain't left him yet," suggested Andy with the blunt candor of youth. + +Pete pondered. Tucked under his arm were the two bobcat skins and the +coyote-hide. He would try to sell them to the storekeeper, Roth. All +told, he would then have about twenty dollars. That was quite a lot of +money--in Concho. + +Roth was closing shop when they entered town. He greeted Pete +heartily, remarked at his growth and invited him in. Pete introduced +Andy, quite unnecessarily, for Andy knew the storekeeper. Pete gazed +at the familiar shelves, boxes and barrels, the new saddles and rigs, +and in fact at everything in the store save the showcase which +contained the cheap watches, trinkets, and six-shooters. + +"I got a couple o' skins here," he said presently. "Mebby you could +buy 'em." + +"Let's see 'em, Pete." + +Pete unfolded the stiff skins on the counter. + +"Why, I'll give you two dollars for the lot. The cat-skins are all +right. The coyote ain't worth much." + +"All right. I--I'm needin' the money right now," stammered Pete--"or +I'd give 'em to you." + +"How you making it?" queried Roth. + +"Fine! But I was thinkin' o' makin' a change. Sheep is all right--but +I'm sick o' the smell of 'em. Montoya is all right, too. It ain't +that." + +Roth gazed at the boy, wondering if he would say anything about the +six-gun. He liked Pete and yet he felt a little disappointed that Pete +should have taken him altogether for granted. + +"Montoya was in--yesterday," said Roth. + +"Uh-huh? Said he was comin' over here. He's back in camp. Me and +Andy was lookin' for a Chola that wants to sell a hoss." + +"Mighty poor lot of cayuses round here, Pete. What you want with a +horse?" + +"'T ain't the hoss. It's the saddle an' bridle I'm after. If I were +to offer to buy a saddle an' bridle I'd git stuck jest as much for 'em +as I would if I was to buy the whole works. Might jest as well have +the hoss. I could trade him for a pair of chaps, mebby." + +"Goin' to quit the sheep business?" + +"Mebby--if I can git a job ridin'." + +"Well, good luck. I got to close up. Come over and see me before you +break camp." + +"I sure will! Thank you for the--for buyin' them hides." + +Pete felt relieved--and yet not satisfied. He had wanted to speak +about the six-shooter he had taken--but Andy was there, and, besides, +it was a hard subject to approach gracefully even under the most +favorable auspices. Perhaps, in the morning . . . + +"Come on over to Tony's Place and mebby we can run into a Mex that +wants to sell out," suggested Andy. + +Pete said good-night to Roth. + +"Don't you boys get into trouble," laughed Roth, as they left. He had +not even hinted about the six-shooter. Pete thought that the +storekeeper was "sure white." + +The inevitable gaunt, ribby, dejected pony stood at the hitching-rail +of the saloon. Pete knew it at once for a Mexican's pony. No white +man would ride such a horse. The boys inspected the saddle, which was +not worth much, but they thought it would do. "We could steal 'im," +suggested Andy, laughing. "Then we could swipe the rig and turn the +cayuse loose." + +For a moment this idea appealed to Pete. He had a supreme contempt for +Mexicans. But suddenly he seemed to see himself surreptitiously taking +the six-shooter from Roth's showcase--and he recalled vividly how he +had felt at the time--"jest plumb mean," as he put it. Roth had been +mighty decent to him. . . . The Mexican, a wizened little man, +cross-eyed and wrinkled, stumbled from the saloon. + +"Want to sell your hoss?" Pete asked in Mexican. + +"Si! How much you give?" said the other, coming right to the point. + +"Ten dollars." + +"He is a good horse--very fast. He is worth much more. I sell him for +twenty dollars." + +"Si." + +Andy White put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "Say, Pete," he whispered, +"I know this hombre. The poor cuss ain't hardly got enough sense to +die. He comes into town reg'lar and gits drunk and he's got a whole +corral full of kids and a wife, over to the Flats. I'm game, but it's +kinda tough, takin' his hoss. It's about all he's got, exceptin' a +measly ole dog and a shack and the clothes on his back. That saddle +ain't worth much, anyhow." + +Pete thought it over. "It's his funeral," he said presently. + +"That's all right--but dam' if I want to bury him." And Andy, the +sprightly, rolled a cigarette and eyed Pete, who stood pondering. + +Presently Pete turned to the Mexican. "I was only joshin' you, amigo. +You fork your cayuse and fan it for home." + +Pete felt that his chance of buying cheap equipment had gone +glimmering, but he was not unhappy. He gestured to Andy. Together +they strode across to the store and sat on the rough wood platform. +Pete kicked his heels and whistled a range tune. Andy smoked and +wondered what Pete had in mind. Suddenly Pete rose and pulled up his +belt. "Come on over to Roth's house," he said. "I want to see him." + +"He's turned in," suggested Andy. + +"That's all right. I got to see him." + +"I'm on! You're goin' to pay somethin' down on a rig, and git him to +let you take it on time. Great idee! Go to it!" + +"You got me wrong," said Pete. + +Roth had gone to bed, but he rose and answered the door when he heard +Pete's voice. "Kin I see you alone?" queried Pete. + +"I reckon so. Come right in." + +Pete blinked in the glare of the lamp, shuffled his feet as he slowly +counted out eighteen dollars and a half. "It's for the gun I took," he +explained. + +Roth hesitated, then took the money. + +"All right, Pete. I'll give you a receipt. Just wait a minute." + +Pete gazed curiously at the crumpled bit of paper that Roth fetched +from the bedroom. "I took a gun an' cartriges for Wagges. You never +giv me Wages." + +Pete heaved a sigh. "I reckon we're square." + +Roth grinned. "Knowed you'd come back some day. Reckon you didn't +find a Mexican with a horse to sell, eh?" + +"Yep. But I changed my mind." + +"What made you change your mind?" + +"I dunno." + +"Well, I reckon I do. Now, see here, Pete. You been up against it +'most all your life. You ain't so bad off with old Montoya, but I sabe +how you feel about herding sheep. You want to get to riding. But +first you want to get a job. Now you go over to the Concho and tell +Bailey--'he's the foreman--that I sent you, and that if he'll give you +a job, I'll outfit you. You can take your time paying for it." + +Pete blinked and choked a little. "I ain't askin' nobody to _give_ me +nothin'," he said brusquely. + +"Yes, you be. You're asking Bailey for a job. It's all right to ask +for something you mean to pay for, and you'll pay for your job by +workin'. That there rig you can pay for out of your wages. I was +always intending to do something for you--only you didn't stay. I +reckon I'm kind o' slow. 'Most everybody is in Concho. And seeing as +you come back and paid up like a man--I'm going to charge that gun up +against wages you earned when you was working for me, and credit you +with the eighteen-fifty on the new rig. Now you fan it back to Montoya +and tell him what you aim to do and then if you got time, come over +to-morrow and pick out your rig. You don't have to take it till you +get your job." + +Pete twisted his hat in his hands. He did not know what to say. +Slowly he backed from the room, turned, and strode out to Andy White. +Andy wondered what Pete had been up to, but waited for him to speak. + +Presently Pete cleared his throat. "I'm coming over to your wickiup +to-morrow and strike for a job. I got the promise of a rig, all right. +Don't want no second-hand rig, anyhow! I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder +River and I'm comin' with head up and tail a-rollin'." + +"Whoopee!" sang Andy, and swung to his pony. + +"I'm a-comin'!" called Pete as Andy clattered away into the night. + +Pete felt happy and yet strangely subdued. The dim road flickered +before him as he trudged back to the sheep-camp. "Pop would 'a' done +it that way," he said aloud. And for a space, down the darkening road +he walked in that realm where the invisible walk, and beside him +trudged the great, rugged shape of Annersley, the spirit of the old man +who always "played square," feared no man, and fulfilled a purpose in +the immeasurable scheme of things. Pete knew that Annersley would have +been pleased. So it was that Young Pete paid the most honorable debt +of all, the debt to memory that the debtor's own free hand may pay or +not--and none be the wiser, save the debtor. Pete had "played square." +It was all the more to his credit that he hated like the dickens to +give up his eighteen dollars and a half, and yet had done so. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SOME BOOKKEEPING + +While it is possible to approach the foreman of a cattle outfit on foot +and apply for work, it is--as a certain Ulysses of the outlands once +said--not considered good form in the best families in Arizona. Pete +was only too keenly conscious of this. There is a prestige recognized +by both employer and tentative employee in riding in, swinging to the +ground in that deliberate and easy fashion of the Western rider, and +sauntering up as though on a friendly visit wherein the weather and +grazing furnish themes for introduction, discussion, and the eventual +wedge that may open up the way to employment. The foreman knows by the +way you sit your horse, dismount, and generally handle yourself, just +where you stand in the scale of ability. He does not need to be told. +Nor does he care what you have been. Your saddle-tree is much more +significant than your family tree. Still, if you have graduated in +some Far Eastern riding academy, and are, perchance, ambitious to learn +the gentle art of roping, riding them as they come, and incidentally +preserving your anatomy as an undislocated whole, it is not a bad idea +to approach the foreman on foot and clothed in unpretentious garb. +For, as this same Ulysses of the outlands said: + + "Rub grease on your chaps and look wise if you will, + But the odor of tan-bark will cling round you still." + +This information alone is worth considerably more than twenty cents. + +Young Pete, who had not slept much, arose and prepared breakfast, +making the coffee extra strong. Montoya liked strong coffee. After +breakfast Pete made a diagonal approach to the subject of leaving. +Could he go to Concho? Montoya nodded. Would it be all right if he +made a visit to the Concho outfit over on the mesa? It would be all +right. This was too easy. Pete squirmed internally. If Montoya would +only ask why he wanted to go. Did Montoya think he could get another +boy to help with the sheep? The old herder, who had a quiet sense of +humor, said he didn't need another boy: that Pete did very well. Young +Pete felt, as he expressed it to himself, "jest plumb mean." +Metaphorically he had thrown his rope three times and missed each time. +This time he made a wider loop. + +"What I'm gittin' at is, Roth over to Concho said last night if I was +to go over to Bailey--he's the fo'man of the Concho outfit--and ask him +for a job, I could mebby land one. Roth, he said he'd outfit me and +leave me to pay for it from my wages. Andy White, he's pluggin' for me +over to the ranch. I ain't said nothin' to you, for I wa'n't sure--but +Roth he says mebby I could git a job. I reckon I'm gettin' kind of +_old_ to herd sheep." + +Montoya smiled. "Si; I am sixty years old." + +"I know--but--doggone it! I want to ride a hoss and go somewhere!" + +"I will pay you three dollars a week," said Montoya, and his eyes +twinkled. He was enjoying Pete's embarrassment. + +"It ain't the money. You sure been square. It ain't that. I reckon I +jest got to go." + +"Then it is that you go. I will find another to help. You have been a +good boy. You do not like the sheep--but the horses. I know that you +have been saving the money. You have not bought cartridges. I would +give you--" + +"Hold on--you give me my money day before yesterday." + +"Then you have a little till you get your wages from the Concho. It is +good." + +"Oh, I'm broke all right," said Pete. "But that don't bother me none. +I paid Roth for that gun I swiped--" + +"You steal the gun?" + +"Well, it wa'n't jest _stealin'_ it. Roth he never paid me no wages, +so when I lit out I took her along and writ him it was for wages." + +"Then why did you pay him?" + +Pete frowned. "I dunno." + +Montoya nodded. He stooped and fumbled in a pack. Pete wondered what +the old man was hunting for. + +Presently, Montoya drew out the hand-carved belt and holster, held it +up, and inspected it critically. He felt of it with his calloused +hands, and finally gestured to Pete. "It is for you, muchacho. I made +it. Stand so. There, it should hang this way." Montoya buckled the +belt around Pete and stepped back. "A little to the front. Bueno! +Tie the thong round your leg--so. That is well! It is the present +from Jose Montoya. Sometimes you will remember--" + +Montoya glanced at Pete's face. Pete was frowning prodigiously. + +"Hah!" laughed Montoya. "You do not like it, eh?" + +Pete scowled and blinked. "It's the best doggone holster in the world! +I--I'm goin' to keep that there holster as long as I live! I--" + +Montoya patted Pete's shoulder. "With the sheep it is quiet, so!"--and +Montoya gestured to the band that grazed near by. "Where you will go +there will be the hard riding and the fighting, perhaps. It is not +good to kill a man. But it is not good to be killed. The hot +word--the quarrel--and some day a man will try to kill you. See! I +have left the holster open at the end. I have taught you that +trick--but do not tie the holster down if you would shoot that way. +There is no more to say." + +Pete thought so, so far as he was concerned. He was angry with himself +for having felt emotion and yet happy in that his break with Montoya +had terminated so pleasantly withal. "I'm goin' to town," he said, +"and git a boy to come out here. If I can't git a boy, I'll come back +and stay till you git one." + +Montoya nodded and strode out to where the sheep had drifted. The dogs +jumped up and welcomed him. It was not customary for their master to +leave them for so long alone with the flock. Their wagging tails and +general attitude expressed relief. + +Pete, topping the rise that hides the town of Concho from the northern +vistas, turned and looked back. Far below, on a slightly rounded knoll +stood the old herder, a solitary figure in the wide expanse of mesa and +morning sunlight. Pete swung his hat. Montoya raised his arm in a +gesture of good-will and farewell. Pete might have to come back, but +Montoya doubted it. He knew Pete. If there was anything that looked +like a boy available in Concho, Pete would induce that boy to take his +place with Montoya, if he had to resort to force to do so. + +Youth on the hilltop! Youth pausing to gaze back for a moment on a +pleasant vista of sunshine and long, lazy days--Pete brushed his arm +across his eyes. One of the dogs had left the sheep, and came frisking +toward the hill where Pete stood. Pete had never paid much attention +to the dogs, and was surprised that either of them should note his +going, at this time. "Mebby the doggone cuss knows that I'm quittin' +for good," he thought. The dog circled Pete and barked ingratiatingly. +Pete, touched by unexpected interest, squatted down and called the dog +to him. The sharp-muzzled, keen-eyed animal trotted up and nosed +Pete's hand. "You 're sure wise!" said Pete affectionately. Pete was +even more astonished to realize that it was the dog he had roped +recently. "Knowed I was only foolin'," said Pete, patting the dog's +head. The sheep-dog gazed up into Pete's face with bright, unblinking +eyes that questioned, "Why was Pete leaving camp early in the +morning--and without the burros?" + +"I'm quittin' for good," said Pete. + +The dog's waving tail grew still. + +"That's right--honest!"--and Pete rose. + +The sheep-dog's quivering joy ceased at the word. His alertness +vanished. A veritable statue of dejection he stood as though pondering +the situation. Then he lifted his head and howled--the long, +lugubrious howl of the wolf that hungers. + +"You said it all," muttered Pete, turning swiftly and trudging down the +road. He would have liked to howl himself. Montoya's kindliness at +parting--and his gift--had touched Pete deeply, but he had fought his +emotion then, too proud to show it. Now he felt a hot something +spatter on his hand. His mouth quivered. "Doggone the dog!" he +exclaimed. "Doggone the whole doggone outfit!" And to cheat his +emotion he began to sing, in a ludicrous, choked way, that sprightly +and inimitable range ballad; + + "'Way high up in the Mokiones, among the mountain-tops, + A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones and licked his thankful chops, + When who upon the scene should ride, a-trippin' down the slope," + +"Doggone the slope!" blurted Pete as he stubbed his toe on a rock. + +But when he reached Concho his eyes had cleared. Like all good +Americans he "turned a keen, untroubled face home to the instant need +of things," and after visiting Roth at the store, and though sorely +tempted to loiter and inspect saddlery, he set out to hunt up a +boy--for Montoya. + +None of the Mexican boys he approached cared to leave home. Things +looked pretty blue for Pete. The finding of the right boy meant his +own freedom. His contempt for the youth of Concho grew apace. The +Mexicans were a lazy lot, who either did not want to work or were loath +to leave home and follow the sheep. "Jest kids!" he remarked +contemptuously as his fifth attempt failed. "I could lick the whole +bunch!" + +Finally he located a half-grown youth who said he was willing to go. +Pete told him where to find Montoya and exacted a promise from the +youth to go at once and apply for the place. Pete hastened to the +store and immediately forgot time, place, and even the fact that he had +yet to get a job riding for the Concho outfit, in the eager joy of +choosing a saddle, bridle, blanket, spurs, boots and chaps, to say +nothing of a new Stetson and rope. The sum total of these unpaid-for +purchases rather staggered him. His eighteen-odd dollars was as a +fly-speck on the credit side of the ledger. He had chosen the best of +everything that Roth had in stock. A little figuring convinced him +that he would have to work several months before his outfit was paid +for. "If I git a job I'll give you an order for my wages," he told +Roth. + +"That's all right, Pete; I ain't worryin'." + +"Well--I be, some," said Pete. "Lemme see--fifty for the saddle, seven +for the bridle---and she's some bridle!--and eighteen for the +chaps--fifteen for the boots--that's ninety dollars. Gee whizz! Then +there's four for that blanket and ten for them spurs. That's a hundred +and four. 'Course I _could_ git along without a new lid. Rope is +three-fifty, and lid is ten. One hundred and seventeen dollars for +four bits. Guess I'll make it a hundred and twenty. No use botherin' +about small change. Gimme that pair of gloves." + +Roth had no hesitation in outfitting Pete. The Concho cattlemen traded +at his store. He had extended credit to many a rider whom he trusted +less than he did Pete. Moreover, he was fond of the boy and wanted to +see him placed where he could better himself. "I've got you on the +books for a hundred and twenty," he told Pete, and Pete felt very proud +and important. "Now, if I could borrow a hoss for a spell, I'd jest +fork him and ride over to see Bailey," he asserted. "I sure can't pack +this outfit over there." + +Roth grinned. "Well, we might as well let the tail go with the hide. +There's old Rowdy. He ain't much of a horse, but he's got three good +legs yet. He starched a little forward, but he'll make the trip over +and back. You can take him." + +"Honest?" + +"Go ahead." + +Pete tingled with joyful anticipation as he strode from the store, his +new rope in his hand. He would rope that cayuse and just about burn +the ground for the Concho! Maybe he wouldn't make young Andy White sit +up! The Ridin' Kid from Powder River was walking on air when-- + +"Thought you was goin' over to see Montoya!" he challenged as he saw +the Mexican youth, whom he had tentatively hired, sitting placidly on +the store veranda, employed solely in gazing at the road as though it +were a most interesting spectacle. "Oh, manana," drawled the Mexican. + +"Manana, nothin'!" volleyed Pete. "You're goin' now! Git a-movin'--if +you have to take your hands and lift your doggone feet off the ground. +Git a-goin'!" + +"Oh, maybe I go manana." + +"You're dreamin', hombre." Pete was desperate. Again he saw his +chance of an immediate job go glimmering down the vague vistas of many +to-morrows. + +"See here! What kind of a guy are you, anyhow? I come in here +yesterday and offered you a job and you promised you'd git to work +right away. You--" + +"It was _to-day_ you speak of Montoya," corrected the Mexican. + +"You're dreamin'," reiterated Pete. "It was _yesterday_ you said you +would go manana. Well, it's to-morrow, ain't it? You been asleep an' +don't know it." + +An expression of childish wonder crossed the Mexican youth's stolid +face. Of a certainty it was but this very morning that Montoya's boy +had spoken to him! Or was it yesterday morning? Montoya's boy had +said it was yesterday morning. It must be so. The youth rose and +gazed about him. Pete stood aggressively potent, frowning down on the +other's hesitation. + +"I go," said the Mexican. + +Pete heaved a sigh of relief. "A fella's got to know how to handle +'em," he told the immediate vicinity. And because Pete knew something +about "handlin' 'em," he did not at once go for the horse, but stood +staring after the Mexican, who had paused to glance back. Pete waved +his hand in a gesture which meant, "Keep goin'." The Mexican youth +kept going. + +"I ain't wishin' old Jose any hard luck," muttered Pete, "but I said +I'd send a boy--and that there walkin' dream _looks_ like one, anyhow. +'Oh, manana!'" he snorted. "Mexicans is mostly figurin' out to-day +what they 're goin' to do to-morrow, and they never git through +figurin'. I dunno who my father and mother was, but I know one +thing--they wa'n't Mexicans." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +ROWDY--AND BLUE SMOKE + +It has been said that Necessity is the mother of Invention--well, it +goes without saying that the cowboy is the father, and Pete was closely +related to these progenitors of that most necessary adjunct of success. +Moreover, he could have boasted a coat of arms had he been at all +familiar with heraldry and obliged to declare himself. + +[Illustration: Pete.] + +A pinto cayuse rampant; a longhorn steer regardant; two sad-eyed, +unbranded calves couchant--one in each corner of the shield to kind of +balance her up; gules, several clumps of something representing +sagebrush; and possibly a rattlesnake coiled beneath the sagebrush and +described as "repellent" and holding in his open jaws a streaming motto +reading, "I'm a-comin'." + +Had it been essential that Pete's escutcheon should bear the bar +sinister, doubtless he would have explained its presence with the easy +assertion that the dark diagonal represented the vague ancestry of the +two sad-eyed calves couchant. Anybody could see that the calves were +part longhorn and part Hereford! + +Pete rode out of Concho glittering in his new-found glory of shining +bit and spur, wide-brimmed Stetson, and chaps studded with +nickel-plated conchas. The creak of the stiff saddle-leather was music +to him. His brand-new and really good equipment almost made up for the +horse--an ancient pensioner that never seemed to be just certain when +he would take his next step and seemed a trifle surprised when he had +taken it. He was old, amiable, and willing, internally, but his legs, +somewhat of the Chippendale order, had seen better days. Ease and good +feeding had failed to fill him out. He was past taking on flesh. Roth +kept him about the place for short trips. Roth's lively team of pintos +were at the time grazing in a distant summer pasture. + +Rowdy--the horse--seemed to feel that the occasion demanded something +of him. He pricked his ears as they crossed the canon bottom and +breasted the ascent as bravely as his three good legs would let him. +At the top he puffed hard. Despite Pete's urging, he stood stolidly +until he had gathered enough ozone to propel him farther. "Git along, +you doggone ole cockroach!" said Pete. But Rowdy was firm. He turned +his head and gazed sadly at his rider with one mournful eye that said +plainly, "I'm doing my level best." Pete realized that the ground just +traveled was anything but level, and curbed his impatience. "I'll jest +kind o' save him for the finish," he told himself. "Then I'll hook the +spurs into him and ride in a-boilin'. Don't care what he does after +that. He can set down and rest if he wants to. Git along, old +soap-foot," he cried--"soap-foot" possibly because Rowdy occasionally +slipped. His antique legs didn't always do just what he wanted them to +do. + +Topping the mesa edge, Pete saw the distant green that fringed the +Concho home-ranch, topped by a curl of smoke that drifted lazily across +the gold of the morning. Without urging, Rowdy broke into a stiff +trot, that sounded Pete's inmost depths, despite his natural good seat +in the saddle. "Quit it!" cried Pete presently. "You'll be goin' on +crutches afore night if you keep that up.--And so'll I," he added. +Rowdy immediately stopped and turned his mournful eye on Pete. + +If the trot had been the rhythmic _one, two, three, four_, Pete could +have ridden and rolled cigarettes without spilling a flake of tobacco; +but the trot was a sort of _one, two--almost three_, then, whump! +_three_ and a quick _four_, and so on, a decidedly irregular meter in +Pete's lyrical journey toward new fields and fairer fortune. "I'll +sure make Andy sit up!" he declared as the Concho buildings loomed +beneath the cool, dark-green outline of the trees. He dismounted to +open and close a gate. A half-mile farther he again dismounted to open +and close another gate. From there on was a straightaway road to the +ranch-buildings. Pete gathered himself together, pushed his hat down +firmly--it was new and stiff--and put Rowdy to a high lope. This was +something like it! Possibly Rowdy anticipated a good rest, and hay. +In any event, he did his best, rounding into the yard and up to the +house like a true cow-pony. All would have been well, as Pete realized +later, had it not been for the pup. The pup saw in Rowdy a new +playfellow, and charged from the door-step just as that good steed was +mentally preparing to come to a stop. The pup was not mentally +prepared in any way, and in his excitement he overshot the mark. He +caromed into Rowdy's one recalcitrant leg--it usually happens that +way--and Rowdy stepped on him. Pete was also not mentally prepared to +dismount at the moment, but he did so as Rowdy crashed down in a cloud +of dust. The pup, who imagined himself killed, shrieked shrilly and +ran as hard as he could to the distant stables to find out if it were +not so. + +Pete picked up his hat. Rowdy scrambled up and shook himself. Pete +was mad. Over on the edge of the bunk-house veranda sat four or five +of the Concho boys. They rocked back and forth and slapped their legs +and shouted. It was a trying situation. + +The foreman, Bailey, rose as Pete limped up. "We're livin' over here," +said Bailey. "Did you want to see some one?" + +Pete wet his lips. "The fo'man. I--I--jest rid over to see how you +was makin' it." + +"Why, we 're doin' right fair. How you makin' it yourself?" + +"I'm here," said Pete succinctly and without a smile. + +"So we noticed," said the foreman mildly, too mildly, for one of the +punchers began to laugh, and the rest joined in. + +"Wisht I had a hoss like that," said a cowboy. "Always did hate to +climb offen a hoss. I like to have 'em set down and kind o' let me +step off easy-like." + +Pete sorely wanted to make a sharp retort, but he had learned the +wisdom of silence. He knew that he had made himself ridiculous before +these men. It would be hard to live down this thing. He deemed +himself sadly out of luck, but he never lost sight of the main chance +for an instant. + +Bailey, through young Andy White, knew of Pete and was studying him. +The boy had self-possession, and he had not cursed the horse for +stumbling. He saw that Pete was making a fight to keep his temper. + +"You lookin' for work?" he said kindly. + +"I was headed that way," replied Pete. + +"Can you rope?" + +"Oh, some. I kin keep from tanglin' my feet in a rope when it's +hangin' on the horn and I'm standin' off a piece." + +"Well, things are slack right now. Don't know as I could use you. +What's your name, anyhow?" + +"I'm Pete Annersley. I reckon you know who my pop was." + +Bailey nodded. "The T-Bar-T," he said, turning toward the men. They +shook their heads and were silent, gazing curiously at the boy, of whom +it was said that he had "bumped off" two T-Bar-T boys in a raid some +years ago. Young Pete felt his ground firmer beneath him. The men had +ceased laughing. If it had not been for that unfortunate stumble . . . + +"You're sportin' a right good rig," said the foreman. + +"I aim to," said Pete quickly. "If I hadn't gone broke buyin' it, I'd +ride up here on a real hoss." + +"Things are pretty slack right now," said Bailey. "Glad to see +you--but they won't be nothin' doin' till fall. Won't you set down? +We're goin' to eat right soon." + +"Thanks. I ain't a-missin' a chanct to eat. And I reckon ole Rowdy +there could do somethin' in that line hisself." + +Bailey smiled. "Turn your horse into the corral. Better pack your +saddle over here. That pup will chew them new latigos if he gets near +it." + +"That doggone pup come mighty nigh bustin' me,"--and Pete smiled for +the first time since arriving. "But the pup was havin' a good time, +anyhow." + +"Say, I want to shake with you!" said a big puncher, rising and +sticking out a strong, hairy hand. + +Pete's face expressed surprise. "Why--sure!" he stammered, not +realizing that his smiling reference to the pup had won him a friend. + +"He's sure a hard-boiled kid," said one of the men as Pete unsaddled +and led Rowdy to the corral. "Did you catch his eye? Black--and +shinin'; plumb full of deviltry--down in deep. That kid's had to hit +some hard spots afore he growed to where he is." + +"And he can take his medicine," asserted another cowboy. "He was mad +enough to kill that hoss and the bunch of us--but he held her down and +bellied up to us like a real one. Looks like he had kind of a Injun +streak in him." + +Bailey nodded. "Wish I had a job for the kid. He would make good. +He's been driftin' round the country with old man Montoya for a couple +of years. Old man Annersley picked him up down to Concho. The kid was +with a horse-trader. He would have been all right with Annersley, but +you boys know what happened. This ain't no orphan asylum, but--well, +anyhow--did you size up the rig he's sportin'?" + +"Some rig." + +"And he says he went broke to buy her." + +"Some kid." + +"Goin' to string him along?" queried another cowboy. + +"Nope," replied Bailey. "The pup strung him plenty. Mebby we'll give +him a whirl at a real horse after dinner. He's itchin' to climb a real +one and show us, and likewise to break in that new rig." + +"Or git busted," suggested one of the men. + +"By his eye, I'd say he'll stick," said Bailey. "Don't you boys go to +raggin' him too strong about ridin', for I ain't aimin' to kill the +kid. If he can stick on Blue Smoke, I've a good mind to give him a +job. I told Andy to tell him there wa'n't no chanct up here--but the +kid comes to look-see for hisself. I kind o' like that." + +"You 're gettin' soft in your haid, Bud," said a cowboy affectionately. + +"Mebby, but I don't have to put cotton in my ears to keep my brains +in," Bailey retorted mildly. + +The cowboy who had spoken was suffering from earache and had an ear +plugged with cotton. + +Pete swaggered up and sat down. "Who's ridin' that blue out there?" he +queried, gesturing toward the corral. + +"He's a pet," said Bailey. Nobody rides him." + +"Uh-huh. Well, I reckon the man who tries 'll be one of ole Abraham's +pets right off soon after," commented Pete. "He don't look good to me." + +"You sabe 'em?" queried Bailey and winked at a companion. + +"Nope," replied Pete. "I can't tell a hoss from a hitchin'-rail, 'less +he kicks me." + +"Well, Blue Smoke ain't a hitchin'-rail," asserted Bailey. "What do +you say if we go over and tell the missis we're starvin' to death?" + +"Send Pete over," suggested a cowboy. + +Bailey liked a joke. As he had said, things were dull, just then. +"Lope over and tell my missis we're settin' out here starvin' to +death," he suggested to Pete. + +Pete strode to the house and entered, hat in hand. The foreman's wife, +a plump, cheery woman, liked nothing better than to joke with the men. +Presently Pete came out bearing the half of a large, thick, juicy pie +in his hands. He marched to the bunkhouse and sat down near the +men--but not too near. He ate pie and said nothing. When he had +finished the pie, he rolled a cigarette and smoked, in huge content. +The cowboys glanced at one another and grinned. + +"Well," said Bailey presently; "what's the answer?" + +Pete grinned. "Misses Bailey says to tell you fellas to keep on +starvin' to death. It'll save cookin'." + +"I move that we get one square before we cross over," said Bailey, +rising. "Come on, boys. I can smell twelve o'clock comin' from the +kitchen." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +"TURN HIM LOOSE!" + +Blue Smoke was one of those unfortunate animals known as an outlaw. He +was a blue roan with a black stripe down his back, a tough, strong +pony, with a white-rimmed eye as uncompromising as the muzzle of a +cocked gun. He was of no special use as a cow-pony and was kept about +the ranch merely because he happened to belong to the Concho caviayard. +It took a wise horse and two good men to get a saddle on him when some +aspiring newcomer intimated that he could ride anything with hair on +it. He was the inevitable test of the new man. No one as yet had +ridden him to a finish; nor was it expected. The man who could stand a +brief ten seconds' punishment astride of the outlaw was considered a +pretty fair rider. It was customary to time the performance, as one +would time a race, but in the instance of riding Blue Smoke the man was +timed rather than the horse. So far, Bailey himself held the record. +He had stayed with the outlaw fifteen seconds. + +Pete learned this, and much more, about Blue Smoke's disposition while +the men ate and joked with Mrs. Bailey. And Mrs. Bailey, good woman, +was no less eloquent than the men in describing the outlaw's unenviable +temperament, never dreaming that the men would allow a boy of Pete's +years to ride the horse. Pete, a bit embarrassed in this lively +company, attended heartily to his plate. He gathered, indirectly, that +he was expected to demonstrate his ability as a rider, sooner or later. +He hoped that it would be later. + +After dinner the men loafed out and gravitated lazily toward the +corral, where they stood eying the horses and commenting on this and +that pony. Pete had eyes for no horse but Blue Smoke. He admitted to +himself that he did not want to ride that horse. He knew that his rise +would be sudden and that his fall would be great. Still, he sported +the habiliments of a full-fledged buckaroo, and he would have to live +up to them. A man who could not sit the hurricane-deck of a pitching +horse was of little use to the ranch. In the busy season each man +caught up his string of ponies and rode them as he needed them. There +was neither time nor disposition to choose. + +Pete wished that Blue Smoke had a little more of Rowdy's equable +disposition. It was typical of Pete, however, that he absolutely hated +to leave an unpleasant task to an indefinite future. Moreover, he +rather liked the Concho boys and the foreman. He wanted to ride with +them. That was the main thing. Any hesitancy he had in regard to +riding the outlaw was the outcome of discretion rather than of fear. +Bailey had said there was no work for him. Pete felt that he had +rather risk his neck a dozen times than to return to the town of Concho +and tell Roth that he had been unsuccessful in getting work. Yet Pete +did not forget his shrewdness. He would bargain with the foreman. + +"How long kin a fella stick on that there Blue Smoke hoss?" he queried +presently. + +"Depends on the man," said Bailey, grinning. + +"Bailey here stayed with him fifteen seconds onct," said a cowboy. + +Pete pushed hack his hat. "Well, I ain't no bronco-twister, but I +reckon I could ride him a couple o' jumps. Who's keepin' time on the +dog-gone cayuse?" + +"Anybody that's got a watch," replied Bailey. + +Pete hitched up his chaps. "I got a watch and I'd hate to bust her. +If you'll hold her till I git through"--and he handed the watch to the +nearest cowboy. "If you'll throw my saddle on 'im, I reckon I'll walk +him round a little and see what kind of action he's got." + +"Shucks!" exclaimed Bailey; "that hoss would jest nacherally pitch you +so high you wouldn't git back in time for the fall round-up, kid. He's +bad." + +"Well, you said they wa'n't no job till fall, anyhow," said Pete. +"Mebby I'd git back in time for a job." + +Bailey shook his head. "I was joshin'--this mornin'." + +"'Bout my ridin' that hoss? Well, I ain't. I'm kind of a stranger up +here, and I reckon you fellas think, because that doggone ole soap-foot +fell down with me, that I can't ride 'em." + +"Oh, mebby some of 'em," laughed Bailey. + +Pete's black eyes flashed. To him the matter was anything but a joke. +"You give me a job if I stick on that hoss for fifteen seconds? Why, +I'm game to crawl him and see who wins out. If I git pitched, I lose. +And I'm taking all the chances." + +"Throw a saddle on him and give the kid a chanct," suggested a cowboy. + +Bailey turned and looked at Pete, whose eyes were alight with the hope +of winning out--not for the sake of any brief glory, Pete's compressed +lips denied that, but for the sake of demonstrating his ability to hold +down a job on the ranch. + +"Rope him, Monte," said Bailey. "Take the sorrel. I'll throw the +kid's saddle on him." + +"Do I git the job if I stick?" queried Pete nervously. + +"Mebby," said Bailey. + +Now Pete's watch was a long-suffering dollar watch that went when it +wanted to and ceased to go when it felt like resting. At present the +watch was on furlough and had been for several days. A good shake +would start it going--and once started it seemed anxious to make up for +lost time by racing at a delirious pace that ignored the sun, the +stars, and all that makes the deliberate progress of the hours. If +Pete could arrange it so that his riding could be timed by his own +watch, he thought he could win, with something to spare. After a wild +battle with the punchers, Blue Smoke was saddled with Pete's saddle. +He still fought the men. There was no time for discussion if Pete +intended to ride. + +"Go to 'im!" cried Bailey. + +Pete hitched up his chaps and crawled over the bars. "Jest time him +for me," said Pete, turning to the cowboy who held his watch. + +The cowboy glanced at the watch, put it to his ear, then glanced at it +again. "The durn thing's stopped!" he asserted. + +"Shake her," said Pete. + +Pete slipped into the saddle. "Turn 'im loose!" he cried. + +The men jumped back. Blue Smoke lunged and went at it. Pete gritted +his teeth and hung to the rope. The corral revolved and the buildings +teetered drunkenly. Blue Smoke was not a running bucker, but did his +pitching in a small area--and viciously. Pete's head snapped back and +forth. He lost all sense of time, direction, and place. He was jolted +and jarred by a grunting cyclone that flung him up and sideways, met +him coming down and racked every muscle in his body. Pete dully hoped +that it would soon be over. He was bleeding at the nose. His neck +felt as though it had been broken. He wanted to let go and fall. +Anything was better than this terrible punishment. + +He heard shouting, and then a woman's shrill voice. Blue Smoke gave a +quick pitch and twist. Pete felt something crash up against him. +Suddenly it was night. All motion had ceased. + +When he came to, Mrs. Bailey was kneeling beside him and ringed around +were the curious faces of the cowboys. + +"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River," muttered Pete. "Did I make it?" + +"That horse liked to killed you," said Mrs. Bailey. "If I'd 'a' knew +the boys was up to this . . . and him just a boy! Jim Bailey, you +ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Ma Bailey wiped Pete's face with her +apron and put her motherly arm beneath his head. "If he was my boy, +Jim Bailey, I'd--I'd--show you!" + +Pete raised on his elbow. "I'm all right, mam. It wa'n't his fault. +I said I could ride that hoss. Did I make it?" + +"Accordin' to your watch here," said the puncher who held Pete's +irresponsible timepiece, "you rid him for four hours and sixteen +minutes. The hands was a-fannin' it round like a windmill in a +cyclone. But she's quit, now." + +"Do I git the job?" queried Pete. + +"You get right to bed! It's a wonder every bone in your body ain't +broke!" exclaimed Ma Bailey. + +"Bed!" snorted Pete. He rose stiffly. His hat was gone and one spur +was missing. His legs felt heavy. His neck ached; but his black eyes +were bright and blinking. + +"Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Bailey. "Why, the boy is comin' to all +right!" + +"You bet!" said Pete, grinning, although he felt far from all right. +He realized that he rather owed Mrs. Bailey something in the way of an +expression of gratitude for her interest. "I--you, you sure can make +the best pie ever turned loose!" he asserted. + +"Pie!" gasped the foreman's wife, "and him almost killed by that blue +devil there! You come right in the house, wash your face, and I'll fix +you up." + +"The kid's all right, mother," said Bailey placatingly. + +Mrs. Bailey turned on her husband. "That's not your fault, Jim Bailey. +Such goin's-on! You great, lazy hulk, you, to go set a boy to ridin' +that hoss that you dassent ride yourself. If he was my boy--" + +"Well, I'm willin'," said Pete, who began to realize the power behind +the throne. + +"Bless his heart!" Mrs. Bailey put her arm about his shoulders. Pete +was mightily embarrassed. No woman had ever caressed him, so far as he +could remember. The men would sure think him a softy, to allow all +this strange mothering; but he could not help himself. Evidently the +foreman's wife was a power in the land, for the men had taken her +berating silently and respectfully. But before they reached the house +Pete was only too glad to feel Mrs. Bailey's arm round his shoulders, +for the ground seemed unnecessarily uneven, and the trees had a strange +way of rocking back and forth, although there was no wind. + +Mrs. Bailey insisted that he lie down, and she spread a blanket on her +own white bed. Pete did not want to lie down. But Mrs. Bailey +insisted, helping him to unbuckle his chaps and even to pull off his +boots. The bed felt soft and comfortable to his aching body. The room +was darkened. Mrs. Bailey tiptoed through the doorway. Pete gazed +drowsily at a flaming lithograph on the wall; a basket of fruit such as +was never known on land or sea, placed on a highly polished table such +as was never made by human hands. The colors of the chromo grew dimmer +and dimmer. Pete sighed and fell asleep. + +Mrs. Bailey, like most folk in that locality, knew something of Pete's +earlier life. Rumor had it that Pete was a bad one--a tough kid--that +he had even killed two cowboys of the T-Bar-T. Mrs. Bailey had never +seen Pete until that morning. Yet she immediately formed her own +opinion of him, intuition guiding her aright. Young Pete was simply +unfortunate--not vicious. She could see that at a glance. And he was +a manly youngster with a quick, direct eye. He had come to the Concho +looking for work. The men had played their usual pranks, fortunately +with no serious consequences. But Bailey should have known better, and +she told him so that afternoon in the kitchen, while Pete slumbered +blissfully in the next room. "And he can help around the place, even +if it is slack times," she concluded. + +That evening was one of the happiest evenings of Pete's life. He had +never known the tender solicitude of a woman. Mrs. Bailey treated him +as a sort of semi-invalid, waiting on him, silencing the men's +good-natured joshing with her sharp tongue, feeding him canned +peaches--a rare treat--and finally enthroning him in her own ample +rocking-chair, somewhat to Pete's embarrassment, and much to the +amusement of the men. + +"He sure can ride it!" said a cowboy, indicating the rocking-chair. + +"Bill Haskins, you need a shave!" said Mrs. Bailey. + +The aforesaid Bill Haskins, unable to see any connection between his +remark and the condition of his beard, stared from one to another of +his blank-faced companions, grew red, stammered, and felt of his chin. + +"I reckon I do," he said weakly, and rising he plodded to the +bunk-house. + +"And if you want to smoke," said Mrs. Bailey, indicating another of the +boys who had just rolled and lighted a cigarette, "there's all outdoors +to do it in." + +This puncher also grew red, rose, and sauntered out. + +Bailey and the two remaining cowboys shuffled their feet, wondering who +would be the next to suffer the slings and arrows of Ma Bailey's +indignation. _They_ considered the Blue Smoke episode closed. +Evidently Ma Bailey did not. Bailey himself wisely suggested that they +go over to the bunk-house. It would be cooler there. The cowboys rose +promptly and departed. But they were cowboys and not to be silenced so +easily. + +They loved Ma Bailey and they dearly loved to tease her. Strong, +rugged, and used to activity, they could not be quiet long. Mrs. +Bailey hitched a chair close to Pete and had learned much of his early +history--for Pete felt that the least he could do was to answer her +kindly questions--and he, in turn, had been feeling quite at home in +her evident sympathy, when an unearthly yell shattered the quiet of the +summer evening. More yells--and a voice from the darkness stated that +some one was hurt bad; to bring a light. Groans, heartrending and +hoarse, punctuated the succeeding silence. "It's Jim," the voice +asserted. "Guess his leg's bruk." + +The groaning continued. Mrs. Bailey rose and seized the lamp. Pete +got up stiffly and followed her out. One of the men was down on all +fours, jumping about in ludicrous imitation of a bucking horse; and +another was astride him, beating him not too gently with a quirt. As +Ma Bailey came in sight the other cowboys swung their hats and shouted +encouragement to the rider. Bailey was not visible. + +"Stay with 'im!" cried one. "Rake 'im! He's gittin' played out! Look +out! He's goin' to sunfish! Bust 'im wide open!" + +It was a huge parody of the afternoon performance, staged for Ma +Bailey's special benefit. Suddenly the cowboy who represented Blue +Smoke made an astounding buck and his rider bit the dust. + +Ma Bailey held the lamp aloft and gazed sternly at the two sweating, +puffing cowboys. "Where's Bailey?" she queried sharply. + +One of the men stepped forward and doffing his hat assumed an attitude +of profound gravity. "Blue there, he done pitched your husband, mam, +and broke his leg. Your husband done loped off on three laigs, to git +the doctor to fix it." + +"Let me catch sight of him and I'll fix it!" she snorted. "Jim, if +you're hidin' in that bunk-house you come out here--and behave +yourself. Lord knows you are old enough to know better." + +"That's right, mam. Jim is sure old enough to know better 'n to behave +hisself. You feed us so plumb good, mam, that we jest can't set still +nohow. I reckon it was the pie that done it. Reckon them dried apples +kind of turned to cider." + +Mrs. Bailey swung around with all the dignity of a liner leaving +harbor, and headed for the house. + +"Is she gone?" came in a hoarse whisper. + +"You come near this house to-night and you'll find out!" Mrs. Bailey +advised from the doorway. + +"It's the hay for yours, Jim," comforted a cowboy. + +Pete hesitated as to which course were better. Finally he decided to +"throw in" with the men. + +Bailey lighted the hanging lamp in the bunk-house, and the boys +shuffled in, grinning sheepishly. "You're sure a he-widder to-night," +said Bill Haskins sympathetically. + +Bailey grinned. His good wife was used to such pranks. In fact the +altogether unexpected and amusing carryings on of the boys did much +toward lightening the monotony when times were dull, as they were just +then. Had the boys ceased to cut up for any length of time, Ma Bailey +would have thought them ill and would have doctored them accordingly. + +Pete became interested in watching Bill Haskins endeavor to shave +himself with cold water by the light of the hanging lamp. + +Presently Pete's attention was diverted to the cowboy whom Mrs. Bailey +had sent outdoors to smoke. He had fished up from somewhere a piece of +cardboard and a blue pencil. He was diligently lettering a sign which +he eventually showed to his companions with no little pride. It read: + +"NO SMOKING ALOUD." + +Pete did not see the joke, but he laughed heartily with the rest. The +laughter had just about subsided when a voice came from across the way: +"Jim, you come right straight to bed!" + +Bailey indicated a bunk for Pete and stepped from the bunk-house. + +Presently the boys heard Mrs. Bailey's voice. "Good-night, boys." + +"Good-night, Ma!" they chorused heartily. + +And "Good-night, Pete," came from the house. + +"Good-night, Ma!" shrilled Pete, blushing. + +"I'm plumb sore!" asserted Haskins. "'Good-night, boys,' is good +enough for us. But did you hear what come after! I kin see who gits +all the extra pie around this here ranch! I've half a mind to quit." + +"What--eatin' pie?" + +"Nope! Joshin' Ma. She allus gits the best of us." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +POP ANNERSLEY'S BOY + +Several days after Pete's arrival at the Concho ranch, Andy White rode +in with a companion, dusty, tired, and hungry from a sojourn over near +the Apache line. White made his report to the foreman, unsaddled, and +was washing with a great deal of splutter and elbow-motion, when some +one slapped him on the back. He turned a dripping face to behold Pete +grinning at him. + +Andy's eyes lighted with pleasure. He stuck out a wet hand. "Did you +land a job?" + +"With both feet." + +"Good! I was so darned tired I clean forgot you was livin'. Say, I +saw ole Jose this afternoon. We was crossin' the bottom and rode into +his camp. He said you had quit him. I asked him if you come up here, +but he only shook his head and handed me the usual 'Quien sabe?' He'll +never git a sore throat from talkin' too much. Say, wait till I git +some of this here alkali out of my ears and we'll go and eat and then +have a smoke and talk it out. Gee! But I'm glad you landed! How'd +you work it?" + +"Easy. I rid that there Blue Smoke hoss--give 'em an exhibition of +real ridin' and the fo'man sure fell for my style." + +"Uh-huh. What kind of a fall did _you_ make?" + +"Well, I wasn't in shape to know--till I come to. The fellas said I +done all right till ole Smoke done that little double twist and left me +standin' in the air--only with my feet up. I ain't jest lovin' that +hoss a whole lot." + +Andy nodded sagely. "I tried him onct. So Bailey give you a job, eh?" + +"Kind of a job. Mostly peelin' potatoes and helpin' round the house. +Ma Bailey says I'm worth any two of the men helpin' round the house. +And I found out one thing--what Ma Bailey says round here goes." + +"You bet! She's the boss. If Ma don't like a guy, he don't work long +for the Concho. I recollect when Steve Gary quit over the T-Bar-T and +come over here lookin' for a job. Ma she sized him up, but didn't say +nothin' right away. But Gary he didn't stay long enough to git a +saddle warm. Ma didn't like him, nohow. He sure was a top-hand--but +that didn't help him none. He's over to the T-Bar-T now. Seen him the +other day. He's got some kind of a drag there, for they took him back. +Folks says--say, what's bitin' you?" + +"Nothin'. You said Gary?" + +"Yes. Why?" + +"I was jest thinkin'." + +Young Andy dried his face on the community towel, emptied the basin +with a flourish which drenched the pup and sent him yelping toward the +house, attempted to shy the basin so that it would land right-side up +on the bench--but the basin was wet and soapy and slipped. It sailed +through the door of the bunk-house and caromed off Bill Haskins's head. +Andy saw what had happened and, seizing Pete's arm, rushed him across +the clearing and into the house, where he grabbed Ma Bailey and kissed +her heartily, scrambled backward as she pretended to threaten him with +the mammoth coffee-pot, and sat down at the table with the remark that +he was "powerful tired." + +"You act like it," scoffed Mrs. Bailey. + +Bill Haskins, with a face like black thunder, clumped in and asked Mrs. +Bailey if she had any "stickin'-plaster." + +"Cut you, Bill?" + +"Bad!" said Bill, exhibiting a cut above the ear--the result of Andy's +basin-throwing. + +"Oh, you go 'long!" said Mrs. Bailey, pushing him away. "Askin' for +stickin'-plaster for a scratch like that!" + +Bill Haskins growled and grumbled as he took his place at the table. +He kept shaking his head like a dog with a sore ear, vowing that if he +found out "who thrun that basin" there would be an empty chair at the +Concho board before many days had passed. + +Andy White glanced at Pete and snickered. Bill Haskins glowered and +felt of his head. "Liked to skelp me," he asserted. "Ma, I jest ask +you what you would do now, if you was settin' peaceful in the +bunk-house pawin' over your war-bag, lookin' for a clean shirt, and all +of a sudden _whing_! along comes a warsh-basin and takes you right over +the ear. Wouldn't you feel like killin' somebody?" + +"Lookin' for a clean shirt!" whispered Andy to Pete. "Did you git +that?" + +Bill "got" it--and flushed amazingly. "I was meanin' a clean--clean +dress, Mrs. Bailey. A clean dress or stockin's, mebby." + +"Bill was lookin' for a clean dress," snickered Andy. Pete grinned. + +"Bill, I reckon it ain't your ear that needs that sticking-plaster. A +clean shirt, indeed! I'm surprised at you, William." + +"Gee, Ma called him Willum!" whispered Andy. "Bill better fade." + +The men tramped in, nodded to Mrs. Bailey, and sat down. Eating was a +serious matter with them. They said little. It was toward the end of +the meal, during a lull in the clatter of knives and forks, that Andy +White suggested, _sotto voce_, but intended for the assemblage, "That +Bill always was scared of a wash-basin." This gentle innuendo was lost +on the men, but Bill Haskins vowed mighty vengeance. + +It was evident from the start that Pete and Andy would run in double +harness. They were the youngsters of the outfit, liked each other, and +as the months went by became known--Ma Bailey had read the book--as +"The Heavenly Twins." Bailey asked his good wife why "heavenly." He +averred that "twins was all right--but as for 'heavenly'--" + +Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "I'm callin' 'em 'heavenly,' Jim, to kind of +even up for what the boys call 'em. I don't use that kind of language." + +Pete graduated from peeling potatoes and helping about the house to +riding line with young Andy, until the fall round-up called for all +hands, the loading of the chuck-wagon and a farewell to the lazy days +at the home ranch. The air was keen with the tang of autumn. The +hillside blue of spruce and pine was splashed here and there with the +rich gold of the quaking asp. Far vistas grew clearer as the haze of +summer heat waned and fled before the stealthy harbingers of winter. +In the lower levels of the distant desert, heat waves still pulsed +above the grayish brown reaches of sand and brush--but the desert was +fifty, sixty, eighty miles away, spoken of as "down there" by the +riders of the high country. And Young Pete, detailed to help "gather" +in some of the most rugged timberland of the Blue, would not have +changed places with any man. He had been allotted a string of ponies, +placed under the supervision of an old hand, entered on the pay-roll at +the nominal salary of thirty dollars a month, and turned out to do his +share in the big round-up, wherein riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue, +the Eight-O-Eight, and the Concho rode with a loose rein and a quick +spur, gathering and bunching the large herds over the high country. + +There was a fly in Pete's coffee, however. Young Andy White had been +detailed to ride another section of the country. Bailey had wisely +separated these young hopefuls, fearing that competition--for they were +always striving to outdo each other--might lead to a hard fall for one +or both. Moreover, they were always up to some mischief or other--Andy +working the schemes that Pete usually invented for the occasion. Up to +the time that he arrived at the Concho ranch, Young Pete had never +known the joy of good-natured, rough-and-tumble horseplay, that +wholesome diversion that tries a man out, and either rubs off the +ragged edges of his temper or marks him as an undesirable and +to-be-let-alone. Pete, while possessing a workable sense of humor, was +intense--somewhat quick on the trigger, so to speak. The frequent +roughings he experienced served to steady him, and also taught him to +distinguish the tentative line between good-natured banter and the +veiled insult. + +Unconsciously he studied his fellows, until he thought he pretty well +knew their peculiarities and preferences. Unrealized by Pete, and by +themselves, this set him apart from them. They never studied him, but +took him for just what he seemed--a bright, quick, and withal +industrious youngster, rather quiet at times, but never sullen. +Bailey, whose business it was to know and handle men, confided to his +wife that he did not quite understand Pete. And Mrs. Bailey, who was +really fond of Pete, was consistently feminine when she averred that it +wasn't necessary to understand him so long as he attended to his work +and behaved himself, which was Mrs. Bailey's way of dodging the issue. +She did not understand Pete herself. "He does a heap of thinking--for +a boy," she told Bailey. "He's got something' besides cattle on his +mind," Bailey asserted. Mrs. Bailey had closed the question for the +time being with the rather vague assertion, "I should hope so." + +The first real inkling that Andy White had of Pete's deeper nature was +occasioned by an incident during the round-up. + +The cutting-out and branding were about over. The Concho men, camped +round their wagon, were fraternizing with visitors from the Blue and +T-Bar-T. Every kind of gossip was afloat. The Government was going to +make a game preserve of the Blue Range. Old man Dobson, of the +Eight-O-Eight, had fired one of his men for packing whiskey into the +camp: "Dobson was drunk hisself!" was asserted. One sprightly and +inventive son-of-saddle-leather had brought a pair of horse-clippers to +the round-up. Every suffering puncher in the outfit had been thrown +and clipped, including the foreman, and even the cattle inspector. +Rumor had it that the boys from the Blue intended to widen their scope +of operation and clip everybody. The "gentleman [described in the +vernacular] who started to clip my [also described] head'll think he's +tackled a tree-kitty," stated a husky cowboy from the T-Bar-T. + +Old Montoya's name was mentioned by another rider from the T-Bar-T. +Andy who was lying beside Pete, just within the circle of firelight, +nudged him. + +"We run every nester out of this country; and it's about time we +started in on the sheep," said this individual, and he spoke not +jestingly, but with a vicious meaning in his voice, that silenced the +talk. + +Bailey was there and Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, Bud Long, foreman of +the Blue, and possibly some fifteen or eighteen visiting cowboys. The +strident ill-nature of the speaker challenged argument, but the boys +were in good-humor. + +"What you pickin' on Montoya for?" queried a cowboy, laughing. "He +ain't here." + +Pete sat up, naturally interested in the answer. + +"He's lucky he ain't," retorted the cow-puncher. + +"_You're_ lucky he ain't," came from Pete's vicinity. + +"Who says so?" + +Andy White tugged at Pete's sleeve. "Shut up, Pete! That's Steve Gary +talkin'. Don't you go mixin' with Gary. He's right quick with his +gun. What's a-bitin' you, anyhow?" + +"Who'd you say?" queried Pete. + +"Gary--Steve Gary. Reckon you heard of him." + +"Who says I'm lucky he ain't here?" again challenged Gary. + +"Shut up, Steve," said a friendly cowboy. "Can't you take a josh?" + +"Who's lookin' for a row, anyhow?" queried another cowboy. "I ain't." + +The men laughed. Pete's face was somber in the firelight. Gary! The +man who had led the raid on Pop Annersley's homestead. Pete knew that +he would meet Gary some day, and he was curious to see the man who was +responsible for the killing of Annersley. He had no definite plan--did +not know just what he would do when he met him. Time had dulled the +edge of Pete's earlier hatred and experience had taught him to leave +well enough alone. But that strident voice, edged with malice, had +stirred bitter memories. Pete felt that should he keep silent it would +reflect on his loyalty to both Montoya and Annersley. There were men +there who knew he had worked for Montoya. They knew, but hardly +expected that Pete would take up Gary's general challenge. He was but +a youth--hardly more than a boy. The camp was somewhat surprised when +Pete got to his feet and stepped toward the fire. + +"I'm the one that said you was lucky Montoya wasn't here," he asserted. +"And I'm leavin' it to my boss, or Bud Long, or your own boss"--and he +indicated Houck with a gesture--"if I ain't right." + +"Who in hell are you, anyhow?" queried Gary, + +"Me? I'm Pop Annersley's boy, Pete. Mebby you recollec' you said +you'd kill me if I talked about that shootin'. I was a kid then--and I +was sure scared of the bunch that busted into the shack--three growed +men ag'in' a kid--a-threatenin' what they'd do to the man that bumped +off two of their braves. You was askin' who talked up awhile back. It +was me." + +Gary was on his feet and took a step toward Pete when young Andy rose. +Pete was his bunkie. Andy didn't want to fight, but if Gary pulled his +gun . . . + +Bailey got up quietly, and turning his back on Gary told Pete and Andy +to saddle up and ride out to relieve two of the boys on night-herd. + +It was Bud Long who broke the tension. "It's right late for young +roosters to be crowin' that way," he chuckled. + +Everybody laughed except Gary. "But it ain't too late for full-growed +roosters to crow!" he asserted. + +Long chuckled again. "Nope. I jest crowed." + +Not a man present missed the double-meaning, including Gary. And Gary +did not want any of Long's game. The genial Bud had delicately +intimated that his sympathies were with the Concho boys. Then there +were Bailey and Bill Haskins and several others among the Concho outfit +who would never see one of their own get the worst of it. Gary turned +and slunk away toward his own wagon. One after another the T-Bar-T +boys rose and followed. The Annersley raid was not a popular subject +with them. + +Bailey turned to Long. "Thanks, Bud." + +"'Mornin', Jim," said Long facetiously. "When 'd you git here?" + +Two exceedingly disgruntled young cowboys saddled up and rode out to +the night-herd. They had worked all day, and now they would have to +ride herd the rest of the night, for it was nearing twelve. As relief +men they would have to hold their end of the herd until daybreak. + +"I told you to shut up," complained Andy. + +"I wasn't listenin' to you," said Pete, + +"Yes! And this is what we git for your gittin' red-headed about a ole +Mexican sheep-herder. But, honest, Pete, you sure come clost to +gittin' yours. Gary mebby wouldn't 'a' pulled on you--but he'd 'a' +sure trimmed you if Bailey hadn't stepped in." + +"He'd never put a hand on me," stated Pete. + +"You mean you'd 'a' plugged 'im?" + +"I'm meanin' I would." + +"But, hell, Pete, you ain't no killer! And they's no use gettin' +started that way. They's plenty as would like to see Gary bumped +off--but I don't want to be the man to do it. Suppose Gary did lead +that raid on ole man Annersley? That's over and done. Annersley is +dead. You're livin'--and sure two dead men don't make a live one. +What's the good o' takin' chances like that?" + +"I dunno, Andy. All I know is that when Gary started talkin' about +Montoya I commenced to git hot inside. I knowed I was a fool--but I +jest had to stand up and tell him what he was. It wa'n't me doin' it. +It was jest like somethin' big a-pullin' me onto my feet and makin' me +talk like I did. It was jest like you was ridin' the edge of some +steep and bad goin' and a maverick takes over and you know you got no +business to put your hoss down after him. But your saddle is +a-creakin' and a-sayin', 'Go git 'im!'--and you jest nacherally go. +Kin you tell me what makes a fella do the like of that?" + +"I dunno, Pete. But chasin' mavericks is different." + +"Mebby. But the idee is jest the same." + +"Well, I'm hopin' you don't git many more of them idees right soon. +I'm sure with you to the finish, but I ain't wishful to git mine that +way." + +"I ain't askin' you to," said Pete, for he was angry with himself +despite the logic of his own argument. + +They were near the herd. Andy, who had flushed hotly at Pete's rather +ungenerous intimation, spurred his pony round and rode toward a dim +figure that nodded in the starlight. Pete whirled his own pony and +rode in the opposite direction. + +Toward dawn, as they circled, they met again. + +"Got the makin's?" queried Pete. + +"Right here," said Andy. + +As Pete took the little sack of tobacco, their hands touched and +gripped. "I seen you standin' side of me," said Pete, "when I was +talkin' to Gary." + +"You was dreaming" laughed Andy. "That was your shadow." + +"Mebby," asserted Pete succinctly. "But I seen out of the corner of my +eye that that there shadow had its hand on its gun. And _I_ sure +didn't." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +IN THE PIT + +The round-up was over. A trainload of Concho steers was on its way +East, accompanied by four of the Concho boys. The season had been a +good one and prices were fair. Bailey was feeling well. There was no +obvious reason for his restlessness. He had eaten a hearty breakfast. +The sky was clear, and a thin, fragrant wind ran over the high mesa, a +wind as refreshing as a drink of cold mountain water on a hot day. +Suddenly it occurred to Bailey that the deer season was open--that "the +hunting winds were loose." Somewhere in the far hills the bucks were +running again. A little venison would be a welcome change from a +fairly steady diet of beef. + +Bailey saddled up, and hung his rifle under the stirrup-leather. He +tucked a compact lunch in his saddle-pockets, filled a _morral_ with +grain and set off in the direction of the Blue Range. + +Once on the way and his restlessness evaporated. He did not realize +that deer-hunting was an excuse to be alone. + +Jim Bailey, however, was not altogether happy. He was worried about +Young Pete. The incident at the round-up had set him thinking. The +T-Bar-T and the Concho men were not over-friendly. There were certain +questions of grazing and water that had never been definitely settled. +The Concho had always claimed the right to run their cattle on the Blue +Mesa with the Blue Range as a tentative line of demarcation. The +T-Bar-T always claimed the Blue as part of their range. There had been +some bickering until the killing of Annersley, when Bailey promptly +issued word to his men to keep the Concho cattle north of the +homestead. He had refused to have anything to do with the raid, nor +did he now intend that his cattle should be an evidence that he had +even countenanced it. + +Young Pete had unwittingly stirred up the old enmity. Any untoward act +of a cowboy under such circumstances would be taken as expressive of +the policy of the foreman. Even if Pete's quarrel was purely a +personal matter there was no telling to what it might lead. The right +or wrong of the matter, personally, was not for Bailey to decide. His +duty was to keep his cattle where they belonged and his men out of +trouble. And because he was known as level-headed and capable he held +the position of actual manager of the Concho--owned by an Eastern +syndicate--but he was too modest and sensible to assume any such title, +realizing that as foreman he was in closer touch with his men. They +told him things, as foreman, that as manager he would have heard +indirectly through a foreman--qualified or elaborated as that official +might choose. + +As he jogged along across the levels Bailey thought it all over. He +would have a talk with Young Pete when he returned and try to show him +that his recent attitude toward Gary militated against the Concho's +unprinted motto: "The fewer quarrels the more beef." + +Halfway across the mesa there was what was known as "The Pit "; a +circular hole in the plain; rock-walled, some forty or fifty yards in +diameter and as many yards deep. Its bottom was covered with fine, +loose sand, a strange circumstance in a country composed of tufa and +volcanic rock. Legend had it that the Pit was an old Hopi tank, or +water-hole--a huge cistern where that prehistoric tribe conserved the +rain. Bits of broken pottery and scattered beads bore out this theory, +and round the tank lay the low, crumbling mounds of what had once been +a village. + +The trail on the Blue ran close to the Pit, and no rider passing it +failed to glance down. Cattle occasionally strayed into it and if weak +were unable to climb out again without help from horse and rope. As +Bailey approached, he heard the unmistakable bark of a six-shooter. He +slipped from his horse, strode cautiously to the rim, and peered over. + +Young Pete had ridden his horse down the ragged trail and was at the +moment engaged in six-gun practice. Bailey drew back and sat down. +Pete had gathered together some bits of rock and had built a target +loosely representing a man. The largest rock, on which was laid a +small round, bowlder for a head, was spattered with lead. Pete, quite +unconscious of an audience, was cutting loose with speed and accuracy. +He threw several shots at the place which represented the vitals of his +theoretical enemy, punched the shells from his gun, and reloaded. Then +he stepped to his horse and led him opposite the target and some twenty +feet from it. Crouching, he fired under the horse's belly. The horse +bucked and circled the enclosure. Pete strode after him, caught him +up, and repeated the performance. Each time Pete fired, the horse +naturally jumped and ran. Patiently Pete caught him up again. Finally +the animal, although trembling and wild-eyed, stood to the gun. Pete +patted its neck. Reloading he mounted. Bailey was curious to see what +the boy would do next. Pete turned the horse and, spurring him, flung +past the target, emptying his gun as he went. Then he dismounted and +striding up to within ten yards of the man-target, holstered his gun +and stood for a moment as still as a stone itself. Suddenly his hand +flashed to his side. Bailey rubbed his eyes. The gun had not come +from the holster, yet the rock target was spattered with five more +shots. Bailey could see the lead fly as the blunt slugs flattened on +the stone. + +"The young son-of-a-gun!" muttered Bailey. "Dinged if he ain't +shootin' through the open holster! Where in blazes did he learn that +bad-man trick?" + +Thus far Pete had not said a word, even to the horse. But now that he +had finished his practice he strode to the rock-target and thrust his +hand against it. "You're dead!" he exclaimed. "You're plumb +salivated!" He pushed, and the man-target toppled and fell. + +"Ain't you goin' to bury him?" queried Bailey. + +Pete whirled. The color ran up his neck and face. "H'lo, Jim." + +"How'd you know it was me?" Bailey stood up. + +"Knowed your voice." + +"Well, come on up. I was wonderin' who was down there settin' off the +fireworks. Didn't hear you till I got most on top of you. You sure +got some private shootin'-gallery." + +Pete led his pony up the steep trail and squatted beside Bailey. "How +long you been watching me, Jim?" + +"Oh, jest since you started shooting under your hoss. What's the idea?" + +"Nothin', jest practicin'." + +"You must 'a' been practicin' quite a' spell. You handle that +smoke-wagon like an ole-timer." + +"I ain't advertisin' it." + +"Well, it's all right, Pete. Glad I got a front seat. Never figured +you was a top-hand with a gun. Now I'm wise. I know enough not to +stack up against you." + +Pete smiled his slow smile and pushed back his hat. "I reckon you're +right about that. I never did no shootin' in company. Ole Jose +Montoya always said to do your practicin' by yourself, and then nobody +knows just how you would play your hand." + +Bailey frowned and nodded. "Well, seein' as I'm in on it, Pete, I'd +kind of like to know myself." + +"Why, I'm jest figurin' that some day mebby somebody'll want to hang my +hide on the fence. I don't aim to let him." + +"Meanin' Gary?" + +"The same. I ain't _lookin'_ for Gary--even if he did shoot down Pop +Annersley--nor I ain't tryin' to keep out of his way. I'm ridin' this +country and I'm like to meet up with him 'most any time. That's all." + +"Shucks, Pete! You forget Gary. He sure ain't worth gettin' hung for. +Gary ain't goin' to put you down so long as you ride for the Concho. +He knows somebody 'd get him. You jest practice shootin' all you +like--but tend to business the rest of the time and you'll live longer. +You can figure on one thing, if Gary was to get you he wouldn't live to +get out of this country." + +"You're handin' me your best card," said Pete. "Gary killed Annersley. +The law didn't get Gary. And none of you fellas got him. He's ridin' +this here country yet. And you was tellin' me to forget him." + +"But that's different, Pete. No one saw Gary shoot Annersley. It was +night. Annersley was killed in his cabin--by a shot through the +window. Anybody might have fired that shot. Why, you were there +yourself--and you can't prove who done it." + +"I can't, eh? Well, between you and me, Jim, I _know_. One of Gary's +own men said that night when they were leavin' the cabin, 'It must 'a' +been Steve that drilled the ole man because Steve was the only puncher +who knowed where the window was and fired into it.'" + +"I didn't know that. So you aim to even up, eh?" + +"Nope. I jest aim to be ready to even up." + +Bailey strode back to his horse. "I'm goin' up in the hills and look +for a deer. Want to take a little pasear with me?" + +"Suits me, Jim." + +"Come on, then." + +They mounted and rode side by side across the noon mesa. + +The ponies stepped briskly. The air was like a song. Far away the +blue hills invited exploration of their timbered and mysterious +silences. + +"Makes a fella feel like forgettin' everything and everybody--but jest +this," said Pete, gesturing toward the ranges. + +"The bucks'll be on the ridges," remarked Bailey. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +GAME + +They got their buck--a big six-point--just before the sun dipped below +the flaming sky-line. In order to pack the meat in, one or the other +would have to walk. Pete volunteered, but Bailey generously offered to +toss up for the privilege of riding. He flipped a coin and won. +"Suits me," said Pete, grinning. "It's worth walkin' from here to the +ranch jest to see you rope that deer on my hoss. I reckon you'll +sweat." + +It took about all of the foreman's skill and strength, assisted by +Pete, to rope the deer on the pony, who had never packed game and who +never intended to if he could help it. And it was a nervous horse that +Pete led down the long woodland trail as the shadows grew distorted and +grim in the swiftly fading light Long before they reached the mesa +level it was dark. The trail was carpeted with needles of the pine and +their going was silent save for the creak of the saddles and the +occasional click of a hoof against an uncovered rock. Pete's horse +seemed even more nervous as they made the last descent before striking +the mesa. "Somethin' besides deer is bother'n' him," said Pete as they +worked cautiously down a steep switchback. The horse had stopped and +was trembling. Bailey glanced back. "Up there!" he whispered, +gesturing to the trail above them. Pete had also been looking round, +and before Bailey could speak again, a sliver of flame split the +darkness and the roar of Pete's six-gun shattered the eerie silence of +the hillside. Bailey's horse plunged off the trail and rocketed +straight down the mountain. Pete's horse, rearing from the hurtling +shape that lunged from the trail above, tore the rope from his hand and +crashed down the hillside, snorting. Something was threshing about the +trail and coughing horribly. Pete would have run if he had known which +way to run. He had seen two lambent green dots glowing above him and +had fired with that quick instinct of placing his shot--the result of +long practice. The flopping and coughing ceased. Pete, with cocked +gun poked ahead of him, struck a match. In its pale flare he saw the +long gray shape of a mountain lien stretched across the trail. +Evidently the lion had smelled the blood of the deer, or the odor of +the sweating horses--a mountain lion likes horse-flesh better than +anything else--and had padded down the trail in the darkness, following +as close as he dared. The match flamed and spluttered out. Pete +wisely backed away a few paces and listened. A little wind whispered +in the pines and a branch creaked, but there came no sound of movement +from the lion. "I reckon I plugged him right!" muttered Pete. "Wonder +what made Jim light out in sech a hurry?" And, "Hey, Jim!" he called. + +From far below came a faint _Whoo_! _Halloo_! Then the words separate +and distinct: "I--got--your--horse." + +"I--got--a--lion," called Pete shrilly. + +"Who--is lyin'--?" came from the depths below. + +Pete grinned despite his agitation. "Come--on--back!" shouted Pete. +He thought he heard Bailey say something like "damn," but it may have +been, "I am." Pete struck another match and stepped nearer the lion +this time. The great, lithe beast was dead. The blunt-nose forty-five +at close range had torn away a part of its skull. "I done spiled the +head," complained Pete. In the succeeding darkness he heard the faint +tinkle of shod feet on the trail. + +Presently he could distinctly hear the heavy breathing of the horse and +the gentle creak of the saddle. Within speaking distance he told the +foreman that he had shot a whopper of a lion and it looked as though +they would need another pack-horse. Bailey said nothing until he had +arrived at the angle of the switchback, when he lighted a match and +gazed at the great gray cat of the rocks. + +"You get twenty dollars bounty," he told Pete. "And you sure stampeded +me into the worst piece of down timber I've rode for a long time. +Gosh! but you're quick with that smoke-wagon of yours! Lost my hat and +liked to broke my leg ag'in' a tree, but I run plumb onto your horse +draggin' a rope. I tied him down there on the flat. I figure you've +saved a dozen calves by killin' that kitty-cat. Did you know it was a +lion when you shot?" + +"Nope, or I'd 'a' sure beat the hosses down the grade. I jest cut +loose at them two green eyes a-burnin' in the brush and _whump_! down +comes Mr. Kitty-cat almost plumb atop me. Mebby I wasn't scared! I +was wonderin' why you set off in sech a hurry. You sure burned the +ground down the mountain." + +"Just stayin' with my saddle," laughed Bailey. "Old Frisco here ain't +lost any lions recent." + +"Will he pack?" + +"I dunno. Wish it was daylight." + +"Wish we had another rope," said Pete. "My rope is on my hoss and +yours is cinchin' the deer on him. And that there lion sure won't +lead. _He's_ dead." + +"'Way high up in the Mokiones,'" chanted Bailey. + +"'A-trippin' down the slope'!" laughed Pete. "And we ain't got no +rope. But say, Jim, can't we kind of hang him acrost your saddle and +steady him down to the flats?" + +"I'll see what I can do with the tie-strings. I'll hold Frisco. You +go ahead and heave him up." + +Pete approached the lion and tried to lift it, but it weaved and +slipped from his arms. "Limper 'n wet rawhide!" asserted Pete. + +"Are you that scared? Shucks, now, I'd 'a' thought--" + +"The doggone lion, I mean. Every time I heave at him he jest folds up +and lays ag'in' me like he was powerful glad to see me. You try him." + +The horse snorted and shied as the foreman slung the huge carcass +across the saddle and tied the lion's fore feet and hind feet with the +saddle-strings. They made slow progress to the flats below, where they +had another lively session with Pete's horse, who had smelled the lion. +Finally with their game roped securely they set out on foot for the +ranch. + +The hunting, and especially Pete's kill, had drawn them close together. +They laughed and talked, making light of high-heeled boots that pinched +and blistered as they plodded across the starlit mesa. + +"Let's put one over on the boys!" suggested Pete. "We'll drift in +quiet, hang the buck in the slaughter-house, and then pack the +kitty-cat into the bunk-house and leave him layin' like he was asleep, +by Bill Haskins's bunk. Ole Bill allus gits his feet on the floor +afore he gits his eyes open. Mebby he won't step high and lively when +he sees what he's got his feet on!" + +Bailey, plodding ahead and leading Frisco, chuckled. "I'll go you, +Pete, but I want you to promise me somethin'." + +"Shoot!" + +Bailey waited for Pete to come alongside. "It's this way, Pete--and +this here is plain outdoor talk, which you sabe. Mrs. Bailey and me +ain't exactly hatin' you, as you know. But we would hate to see you +get into trouble on account of Gary or any of the T-Bar-T boys. And +because you can shoot is a mighty good reason for you to go slow with +that gun. 'T ain't that I give two whoops and a holler what happens to +Gary. It's what might happen to you. I was raised right here in this +country and I know jest how those things go. You're workin' for the +Concho. What you do, the Concho's got to back up. I couldn't hold the +boys if Gary got you, or if you got Gary. They'd be hell a-poppin' all +over the range. Speakin' personal, I'm with you to the finish, for I +know how you feel about Pop Annersley. But you ain't growed up yet. +You got plenty time to think. If you are a-hankerin' for Gary's scalp, +when you git to be twenty-one, why, go to it. But you're a kid yet, +and a whole lot can happen in five or six years. Mebby somebody'll git +Gary afore then. I sure hope they do. But while you're worldly for +me--jest forget Gary. I ain't tellin' you you _got_ to. I'm talkin' +as your friend." + +"I'll go you," said Pete slowly. "But if Steve Gary comes at me--" + +"That's different. Let him talk--and you keep still. Keepin' still at +the right time has saved many a man's hide. Most folks talk too much." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE KITTY-CAT + +Pete and Bailey took off their boots just before they entered the +bunk-house. They lugged the defunct mountain lion in and laid it by +Bill Haskins's bunk. + +Pete propped the lion's head up with one of Haskin's boots. The effect +was realistic enough. The lion lay stretched out in a most natural +way, apparently gazing languidly at the sleeping cow-puncher. This was +more or less accidental, as they dare not light the lamp for fear of +waking the men. Bailey stole softly to the door and across to the +house. Pete undressed and turned in, to dream of who knows what +ghostly lions prowling through the timberlands of the Blue Range. It +seemed but a few minutes when he heard the clatter of the pack-horse +bell that Mrs. Bailey used to call the men to breakfast. The chill +gray half-light of early morning discovered him with one cautious eye, +gazing across at Haskins, who still snored, despite the bell. "Oh, +Bill!" called Pete. Haskins's snore broke in two as he swallowed the +unlaunched half and sat up rubbing his eyes. He swung his feet down +and yawned prodigiously. "Heh--hell!" he exclaimed as his bare feet +touched the furry back of the lion. Bill glanced down into those +half-closed eyes. His jaw sagged. Then he bounded to the middle of +the room. With a whoop he dashed through the doorway, rounded into the +open, and sprinted for the corral fence, his bare legs twinkling like +the side-rods of a speeding locomotive and his shirt-tail fluttering in +the morning breeze. Andy White leaped from his bunk, saw the dead +lion, and started to follow Haskins. Another cowboy, Avery, was +dancing on one foot endeavoring to don his overalls. + +Hank Barley, an old-timer, jumped up with his gun poised, ready for +business. "Why, he's daid!" he exclaimed, poking the lion with the +muzzle of his gun. + +Pete rose languidly and began to dress. "What's all the hocus, fellas? +Where's Haskins?" + +"Bill he done lit out like he'd lost somethin'," said Barley. "Now I +wonder what young ijjut packed that tree-cat in here last night? Jim +said yesterday he was goin' to do a little lookin' round. Looks like +he sure seen somethin'." + +"Yes," drawled Pete. "Jim and me got a buck and this here lion. We +didn't have time to git anything else." + +"Too bad you didn't git a bear and a couple of bob-cats while you was +at it." + +"Hey, boys!" called Andy from the doorway. "Come see Bill!" + +The men crowded to the door. Perched on the top rail of the corral +fence sat Bill Haskins shivering and staring at the house. "We killed +your bed-feller!" called Barley. "He done et your pants afore we +plugged him, but I kin lend you a pair. You had better git a-movin' +afore Ma Bailey--" + +"Ssh!" whispered Andy White. "There's Ma standin' in the kitchen door +and--she's seen Bill!" + +Bill also realized that he had been seen by Mrs. Bailey. He shivered +and shook, teetering on the top rail until indecision got the better of +his equilibrium. With a wild backward flip he disappeared from the +high-line of vision. Ma Bailey also disappeared. The boys doubled up +and groaned as Bill Haskins crawled on all fours across the corral +toward the shelter of the stable. + +"Oh, my Gosh!" gasped Barley. "S-s-ome--body--sh-shoot me and put me +out of my m-misery!" + +A few seconds later Bailey crossed the yard carrying an extra pair of +those coverings most essential to male comfort and equanimity. + +It was a supernaturally grave bevy of cow-punchers that gathered round +the table that morning. Ma Bailey's silence was eloquent of suppressed +indignation. Bailey also seemed subdued. Pete was as placid as a +sleeping cherub. Only Andy White seemed really overwrought. He seemed +to suffer internally. The sweat stood out on Bill Haskins's red face, +but his appetite was in no way impaired. He ate rapidly and drank much +coffee. Ma Bailey was especially gracious to him. Presently from +Pete's end of the table came a faint "Me-e-ow!" Andy White put down +his cup of coffee and excusing himself fled from the room, Pete stared +after him as though greatly astonished. Barley the imperturbable +seemed to be suffering from internal spasms, and presently left the +table. Blaze Andrews, the quietest of the lot, also departed without +finishing his breakfast. + +"Ain't you feelin' well, Ma?" queried Pete innocently. + +Bailey rose and said he thought he would "go see to the horses"--a very +unusual procedure for him. Pete also thought it was about time to +depart. He rose and nodded to Bill. "Glad to see you back, Bill." +Then he went swiftly. + +Haskins heaved a sigh. "I--doggone it--I--You got any +sticking-plaster, Ma?" + +"Yes, William"--and "William" because Ma Bailey was still a bit +indignant, although she appreciated that Bill was more sinned against +than sinning. "Yes, William. Did you hurt yourself?" + +"Stepped on a nail--er--this mawnin'. I--I wasn't lookin' where I +stepped." + +"What started you out--that way?" queried Mrs. Bailey. + +"Why, hell, Ma--I--wasn't meanin' hell, Ma,--but somebody--I reckon I +know who--plants a mountain lion right aside my bunk last night when I +was sleepin'. Fust thing this mawnin' I heard that bell and jumped out +o' my bunk plumb onto the cuss. Like to bruk my neck. That there +lion was a-lookin' right up into my face, kind of sleepy-eyed and +smilin' like he was hungry. I sure didn't stop to find out. 'Course, +when I got my wind, I knowed it was a joke. I reckon I ought to kill +somebody--" + +"A lion, Bill? Hev you been drinkin'?" + +"Drinkin'! Why, Ma, I ain't had a drop sence--" + +"I reckon I better go see what's in that bunk-house," said Mrs. Bailey, +rising. "I'll get you that stickin'-plaster when I come back." + +Mrs. Bailey realized that something unusual had started Bill Haskins on +his wild career that morning, but she could not quite believe that +there was a mountain lion--alive or dead--in the bunk-house until she +saw the great beast with her own amazed eyes. And she could not quite +believe that Pete had shot the lion until Bailey himself certified to +Pete's story of the hunt. Mrs. Bailey, for some feminine reason, felt +that she had been cheated. Bailey had not told her about the lion. +She had been indignant with Haskins for his apparently unseemly +conduct, and had been still more indignant with Pete when she +appreciated that he was at the bottom of the joke. But Haskins was +innocent and Pete was now somewhat of a hero. The good woman turned on +her husband and rebuked him roundly for allowing such "goings-on." +Bailey took his dressing-down silently. He felt that the fun had been +worth it. Pete himself was rather proud and obviously afraid he would +show it. But the atmosphere settled to normal when the men went to +work. Pete was commissioned to skin and cut up the deer. Later in the +day he tackled the lion, skinned it, fleshed out the nose, ears, and +eyelids, and salted and rolled the hide. Roth, the storekeeper at +Concho, was somewhat of a taxidermist and Mrs. Bailey had admired the +lion-skin. + +Pete felt that he could have used the twenty dollars bounty, but he was +nothing if not generous. That afternoon he rode to Concho with the +lion-skin tied behind the cantle. He returned to the ranch late that +night. Next morning he was mysteriously reticent about the +disappearance of the hide. He intended to surprise Ma Bailey with a +real Christmas present. No one guessed his intent. Pete was good at +keeping his own counsel. + +A few evenings later the men, loafing outside the bunk-house, amused +themselves by originating titles for the chief actors in the recent +range-drama. Pete, without question, was "The Lion Tamer," Bailey was +"Big-Chief-not-Afraid-of-a-Buck." Ma Bailey was "Queen of the +Pies"--not analogous to the drama but flattering--and Haskins, after +some argument and much suggestion, was entitled "Claw-Hammer." Such +titles as "Deer-Foot," "Rail-Hopper," "Back-Flip Bill," +"Wind-Splitter," and the like were discarded in favor of +"Claw-Hammer"--for the unfortunate Bill had stepped on a rusty nail in +his recent exodus from the lion's den, and was at the time suffering +from a swollen and inflamed foot--really a serious injury, although +scoffed at by the good-natured Bill himself despite Mrs. Bailey's +solicitude and solution of peroxide. + +Winter, with its thin shifts of snow, its intermittent sunshiny days, +its biting winds that bored through chaps and heavy gloves, was finally +borne away on the reiterant, warm breezes of spring. Mrs. Bailey was +the proud and happy possessor of a lion-skin rug--Pete's Christmas +present to her--proud of the pelt itself and happy because Young Pete +had foregone the bounty that he might make the present, which was +significant of his real affection. Coats and heavy overshoes were +discarded. Birds sang among sprouting aspen twigs, and lean, +mangy-looking coyotes lay on the distant hillsides soaking in the +warmth. Gaunt cattle lowed in the hollows and spring calves staggered +about, gazing at this new world with round, staring eyes. + +Houck, the T-Bar-T foreman, had discussed with Bailey the advisability +of defining a line between the two big ranches. They came to an +agreement and both stated that they would send men to roughly survey +the line, fix upon landmarks, and make them known to the riders of both +outfits. Bailey, who had to ride from Concho to the railroad to meet a +Kansas City commission man, sent word back to the Concho to have two +men ride over to Annersley's old homestead the following day. Mrs. +Bailey immediately commissioned Young Pete and Andy to ride over to the +homestead, thinking that Pete was a particularly good choice as he knew +the country thereabouts. She cautioned the boys to behave +themselves--she always did when Andy and Pete set out together--and +giving them a comfortable package of lunch, she turned to her household +work. + +"I'm takin' Blue Smoke," stated Pete as Andy packed his saddle to the +corral. + +"You're takin' chances then," observed Andy. + +"Oh, I got him so he knows which way is north," asserted Pete. "I been +gittin' acquainted with that cayuse, Chico." + +"Yes. I seen you settin' on the ground watchin' him buck your saddle +off a couple of times," snorted Andy. + +"Well, seein' as this here pasear is straight riding I reckon I'll +crawl him and turn him loose. He needs exercisin'." + +"Well, I don't," asserted Andy. "'Course, some folks has always got to +be showin' off. If Bailey was here you wouldn't be ridin' that hoss." + +"'And up and down and round and 'cross, that top-boss done his best!'" +sang Pete as he lugged his saddle into the corral. + +"'All hell can't glue you to that hoss when he gits headed west,'" Andy +misquoted for the occasion. + +"You jest swing that gate open when I git aboard," suggested Pete. +"I'm the Ridin' Kid from Powder River." + +Andy laughed. + + "The Ridin' Kid from Powder River + Ain't got no lungs nor ary liver, + Some says it was a blue cayuse . . ." + +"Go git you a sack and gather up the leavin's," laughed Pete, as he +kicked his foot into the stirrup and hit the saddle before Blue Smoke +knew what had happened. Andy swung the gate open. The horse headed +for the mesa, pitching as he ran. This was not half so bad for Pete as +though Blue Smoke had been forced to confine his efforts to the corral. +Pete had long since discovered that when Blue Smoke saw space ahead of +him, he was not apt to pitch hard, but rather to take it out in running +bucks and then settle down to a high-lope--as he did on this occasion, +after he had tried with his usual gusto to unseat his rider. There is +something admirable in the spirit of a horse that refuses to be ridden, +and there was much to be said for Blue Smoke. He possessed tremendous +energy, high courage, and strength, signified by the black stripe down +his back and the compact muscles of his flanks and fore legs. Pete had +coveted the horse ever since that first and unforgettable experience in +the corral. Bailey had said jokingly that he would give Pete the +outlaw if Pete would break him. Pete had frequently had it out with +Blue Smoke when the men were away. He had taken Bailey at his word, +but as usual had said nothing about riding the animal. + +Andy watched Pete until he saw that Blue Smoke had ceased to pitch and +was running, when he swung up and loped out after his companion. He +overtook him a half-mile from the ranch, and loped alongside, watching +Pete with no little admiration and some envy. It struck Andy that +while Pete never made much of his intent or his accomplishment, +whatever it might be, he usually succeeded in gaining his end. There +was something about Pete that puzzled Andy; a kind of silent +forcefulness that emanated neither from bulk nor speech; for Pete was +rather lithe and compact than "beefy" and more inclined to silence than +to speech. Yet there was none of the "do or die" attitude about him, +either. But whatever it was, it was there--evident in Pete's eye as he +turned and glanced at Andy--an intenseness of purpose, not manifest in +any outward show or form. + +"You sure tamed him," said Andy admiringly. + +"Only for this mornin'," acknowledged Pete. "To-morrow mornin' he'll +go to it ag'in. But I aim to sweat some of it out of him afore we hit +the Blue. Got the makin's?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +FOUR MEN + +Pete grew silent as he rode with Andy toward the hill-trail that led to +his old home on the Blue Mesa, where he finally surveyed the traces of +old man Annersley's patient toil. The fences had been pulled down and +the water-hole enlarged. The cabin, now a rendezvous for occasional +riders of the T-Bar-T, had suffered from weather and neglect. The door +sagging from one hinge, the grimy, cobwebbed windows, the unswept +floor, and the litter of tin cans about the yard, stirred bitter +memories in Pete's heart. Andy spoke of Annersley, "A fine old man," +but Pete had no comment to make. They loafed outside in the afternoon +sunshine, momentarily expecting the two men from the T-Bar-T. +Presently Andy White rose and wandered off toward the spring. Pete sat +idly tossing pellets of earth at a tin can. He was thinking of +Annersley, of the old man's unvarying kindliness and quaint humor. He +wished that Annersley were alive, could know of his success--Pete had +done pretty well for a lad of sixteen--and that they could talk +together as in the old days. He rose presently and entered the +abandoned cabin. The afternoon sunlight flickered palely through the +dusty windows. Several window-panes had been broken out, but the one +marked with two bullet holes, radiating tiny cracks in the glass, was +still there. The oilcloth on the table was torn and soiled. The mud +of wet weather had been tracked about the floor. The stove was rusted +and cracked. Pete wondered why men must invariably abuse things that +were patently useful, when those things did not belong to any one +especially; for the stove, the windows, the table, the two home-made +chairs showed more than disuse. They had been wantonly broken, hacked, +or battered. Some one had pried the damper from the stove, broken it +in two, and had used half of it for a lid-lifter. A door had been torn +from the wall-cupboard and split into kindling, as a few painted +splinters attested. And some one had shot several holes in the door, +evidently endeavoring to make the initial "T" with a forty-five. An +old pair of discarded overalls lay in one corner, a worn and useless +glove in another. Pete was glad that Annersley would never know of all +this--and yet it seemed as though Annersley _could_ see these +things--and Pete, standing alone in the room, felt as though he were in +some way to blame for this disorder and squalidness. Time and +occupation had rather dulled Pete's remembrance of the actual detail of +the place, but now its original neatness and orderliness came back to +him vividly. + +He was mentally rehabilitating the cabin when a boot-heel crunched on +the ground outside and Andy appeared in the doorway. "The T-Bar-T boys +are comin'. Seen 'em driftin' down the Ranger Trail." + +"They was to be here this mornin'," said Pete. "Reckon they aim to +bush here all night and ride to-morrow. Hope they brought some grub +along." + +"We got plenty. Come on outside. This here ole room kind o' gits on +my nerves." + +Pete strode out. They stood watching the approaching riders. Suddenly +Andy White touched Pete's arm. "One of 'em is Gary!" he said, speaking +low. + +Pete stopped and, picking up a clod, jerked it toward a fence-post. +The clod happened to hit the post and was flicked into dust. "That for +Gary," said Pete. + +Andy grinned, but his eyes were grave. "We'll be right busy," he said +in a sort of tentative way. + +Pete nodded and hitched up his chaps. One of the approaching horsemen +waved a hand. Andy acknowledged the salute. + +The T-Bar-T men rode in and dismounted. "Where's Bailey?" was Gary's +first word. + +"Jim sent us to fix up that line with you," replied Andy. "He's over +to Enright." + +Gary glanced at Pete, who stared at him, but made no gesture of +greeting. But Pete had read Gary's unspoken thought. "Bailey had sent +a couple of kids over to the Blue to help survey the line." And Pete +did not intend to let Gary "get by" with the idea that his attitude was +not understood. + +"Where's Houck?" asked Pete, naming the foreman of the T-Bar-T. + +Cotton, Gary's companion, a light-haired, amiable but rather dull +youth, stated that Houck was over to the ranch. + +"I reckoned he'd come hisself," said Pete. "He knows this country +better 'n most." + +"Oh, I dunno," sneered Gary. "Some of us been here before." + +"They wasn't no line then," said Pete quietly, "but they's goin' to be +one." + +"You makin' it?" queried Gary. + +Pete smiled. "I was sent over here with Andy to do that same thing. +But you're sure welcome to hand out any idees you got, seein' your +fo'man ain't here." + +Andy, who saw the inevitable end of this kind of talk, nudged Pete. +"Let's eat," he said. "I reckon we're all willin'." + +Gary, like most of his type, was always anticipating an insult, +possibly because his general attitude toward humanity was deliberately +intended to provoke argument and recrimination. He was naturally +quarrelsome--and a bully because of his unquestioned physical courage. +He was popular in a way with those of his fellows who looked upon a +gunman--a killer--as a kind of hero. The foreman of the T-Bar-T found +him valuable as a sort of animate scarecrow. Gary's mere presence +often served to turn the balance when the T-Bar-T riders had occasion +to substantiate a bluff or settle a dispute with some other outfit +riding the high country. And because Gary imagined that Bailey of the +Concho had deliberately sent such youngsters as Andy White and Young +Pete to the Blue Mesa to settle the matter of a boundary line, Gary +felt insulted. He was too narrow-minded to reason that Bailey could +hardly know whom Houck of the T-Bar-T would send. Gary's ill-humor was +not improved by the presence of Young Pete nor by Pete's pugnacious +attitude. Strangely enough, Gary was nervous because he knew that +Young Pete was not afraid of him. + +Andy White was keenly aware of this, and found occasion that evening in +Gary's temporary absence to caution Pete, who immediately called +attention to the fact that they had all hung up their guns except Gary. + +"All the better!" asserted Andy. "That lets you out if he was to start +something." + +"Yes. And it mebby might let me out for good, Andy. Gary is jest the +kind to shoot a man down without givin' him a chanct. It ain't like +Gary was scared of me--but he's scared of what I know. I hung up my +gun 'cause I told Jim I wouldn't set to lookin' for a scrap with Gary, +or any man. Gary ain't got sand enough to do the same. But there +won't be no fuss. I reckon he dassent draw on me with you two fellas +here. Where 'd he and Cotton go, anyhow?" + +"I dunno, Pete. They moseyed out without sayin' anything." + +"Looks like Gary wanted to put Cotton wise." + +"Well, if anything starts, I'll sure keep my eye on that Cotton +hombre," said Andy. + +"He's easy--and slow," stated Pete. "He ain't got a fightin' eye." + +"Here they come," whispered Andy. "I kin hear 'em talkin'." + +Pete immediately began to whistle. Andy rose and poked a stick of wood +in the stove. "She's right cool up here," he remarked. + +"We been kind o' sizin' up things," stated Cotton as Gary and he +entered the cabin; an excuse for their absence that was unnecessary and +obviously manufactured. + +Pete smiled. "I got 'em sized up. Never did cotton to workin' in the +dark." + +Gary paused in the act of unsnapping his chaps. + +He was about to say something when Andy White interrupted by suggesting +that they turn in early and rise early that they might get the work +done in daylight and not have to spend another night at the cabin. + +Gary dragged an old mattress from the bedroom and, dropping it beneath +the window, spread his blanket, rolled up in it, and at Cotton's query +as to sharing half of the mattress told Cotton to "sleep where he dam' +pleased." + +"He's a friendly cuss, ain't he?" remarked Pete. + +"Who?" asked Gary, half-rising. + +"Why, Cotton, there," replied Pete. "You didn't think I was meanin' +you, did you?" + +Andy nudged Pete in the dark. "All right," said Pete, ignoring Andy's +meaning. "You git your blanket and we'll bush outside." + +They spread their blankets under a cedar, some distance from the cabin, +and lay gazing at the stars. + +Presently Andy turned to Pete. "Pete," he said gravely, "you're +walkin' right into trouble. Every time Gary starts to lope, you rein +him up mighty short. He's fightin' the bit, and first thing you know--" + +"I'll git pitched, eh? Well, mebby you're right. I done told Bailey +that if I ever did meet Steve Gary I would leave him do the talking but +I sure can't stand for his line o' talk. He's plumb mean." + +"I'll be mighty glad when we git through with this job," said Andy. + +"Shucks! It won't take three hours! I know every tree and stump on +this flat. We'll be driftin' home 'long about four to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE OPEN HOLSTER + +If there ever was a morning calculated to inspire good-will and +heartiness in a human being it was that morning. The dawn came +swiftly, battering through a fleece of clouds and painting the Blue +Mesa in all the gorgeous and utterly indescribable colors of an Arizona +sunrise. The air was crisp and so clear that it seemed to sparkle, +like water. Andy White whistled as he gathered up the blankets and +plodded toward the cabin. Pete felt like whistling, but for some +reason he was silent. He followed Andy to the cabin and saw that the +cowboy Cotton was making coffee. + +"All we got is cold grub," stated Pete, "but we got plenty for +everybody." + +"We fetched some coffee and bacon," said Cotton. But he did not invite +them to eat. + +Pete glanced at Andy. Evidently Cotton had had his instructions or was +afraid to make any friendly overtures. Gary was still lying on the +mattress by the window, apparently asleep. + +Pete stepped to where his own gun hung and buckled it on. "Let's mosey +over to the spring and wash," he suggested to Andy. "I ain't no dude, +but I kind o' like to wash before I eat." + +"Here, too," said Andy. "Mebby we can locate the horses on the way." + +When they returned to the cabin, Gary and Cotton were eating breakfast. +Pete flung a pair of broken hobbles on the floor. "Somebody's cayuse +got rid of these," he stated casually. He knew that they had been on +Gary's horse, as he had seen Gary hobble him. Pete turned and strode +out. Andy was unwrapping their lunch. Presently Gary and Cotton +appeared and picked up their ropes. Andy White, who had seen his own +easily caught pony, graciously offered the use of it in hunting the +strayed horse, but Gary declined the offer gruffly. + +"He's so doggone mean his face hurts him," stated Pete, as Gary and +Cotton set off together. + +"We'll lose some time if his hoss has lit out for home," said Andy. + +"Gary's doin' all he kin to make a job of it," declared Pete. "But I +don't wait for him. Soon's we finish eatin' I'm goin' to locate Blue +Smoke and git to work. We kin run that line without any help from +them. Let 'em walk till they're tired." + +"And what do you think of a couple of punchers--_punchers_, mind +you--that sit down and eat bacon and drink coffee and don't as much as +say 'come in'?" + +"I don't waste time thinkin' about such, Andy. You finish up the grub. +I got all I want." + +"Shucks! This ain't all. We ain't touched the grub in your +saddle-pockets yet. Ma Bailey sure fixed us up right." + +"That'll do for noon," said Pete. "I'll run your hoss in, when I git +Blue Smoke. Your hoss'll follow, anyway." + +"Jest a minute till I git my rope." + +"Nope, you stay here. That Blue Smoke hoss knows me. If he spots two +of us comin' he's like to git excited and mebby bust his hobbles and +light out. I'll ketch him all right." + +"Jest as you say, Pete." + +The sun was warming the air and it was pleasant to sit and watch the +light clouds trail along the far horizon. Andy leaned back against the +cedar and rolled a cigarette. He grinned as he recalled how Pete had +called Gary at every turn, and yet had given the other no chance to +find excuse for a quarrel. Pete was certainly "a cool hand--for a +kid." White, several years Pete's senior, always thought of him as not +much more than a boy. + +Meanwhile Pete, who knew every foot of ground on the homestead, trailed +through the scrub toward the spring. Down an occasional opening he +could see the distant forest that edged the mesa, and once he thought +he saw a horse's head behind a bush, but it turned out to be the stub +of a fallen tree. The brush hid the cabin as he worked toward the +timber. Presently he discovered Blue Smoke's tracks and followed them +down into a shallow hollow where the brush was thick. He wound in and +out, keeping the tracks in sight and casually noting where the horse +had stopped to graze. Near the bottom of the hollow he heard voices. +He had been so intent on tracking the horse that he had forgotten Gary +and Cotton. The tracks led toward the voices. Pete instinctively +paused and listened, then shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward. +A thick partition of brush separated him from the unseen speaker. Pete +stopped midway in his stride. + +"If you squat down here you can see the winder, right under this bush. +The moon was shinin'. It was a plumb easy shot. And it sure stopped +homesteadin' in this end of the country." + +Gary was speaking. Pete drew a step nearer. + +"You ain't sayin' who fired that shot,"--and Cotton laughed +obsequiously. + +Pete stepped from behind the bush. Gary was facing toward the cabin. +Cotton was squatting near by smoking a cigarette. + +"Tell him," said Pete. "I want to know myself." + +"What's it to you?" snarled Gary, and he stepped back. Gary's very +attitude was a challenge. Pete knew that he could not drop his rope +and pull his own gun quick enough to save himself. He saw Gary's hand +move almost imperceptibly toward his holster. + +"I reckon I made a mistake," said Pete slowly--and he let the rope slip +from his hand as though utterly unnerved. "I--I talked kind o' quick," +he stammered. + +"Well, you won't make no more mistakes," sneered Gary, and he dropped +his hand to his gun. "You want to know who plugged that old +hoss-thief, Annersley, eh? Well, what you goin' to say when I tell you +it was me?" + +Pete saw that Gary was working himself up to the pitch when he would +kill. And Pete knew that he had but one chance in a thousand of +breaking even with the killer. He would not have time to draw--but +Montoya had taught him the trick of shooting through the open +holster . . . Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun as +the holster tilted up. Pete fired twice. Staring as though +hypnotized, Gary clutched at his shirt over his chest with his free +hand. He gave at the knees and his body wilted and settled down--even +as he threw a desperate shot at Pete in a last venomous effort to kill. + +[Illustration: Cotton heard Pete's hand strike the butt of his gun as +the holster tilted up.] + +"You seen it was an even break," said Pete, turning to Cotton, who +immediately sank to his knees and implored Pete not to kill him. + +"But I reckon you'd lie, anyhow," continued Pete, paying no attention +to the other's mouthings. "Hunt your cayuse--and git a-movin'." + +Cotton understood that. Glancing over his shoulder at Gary he turned +and ran toward the timber. Pete stepped to the crumpled figure and +gazed at the bubbling hole in the chest. Then he stepped hack and +mechanically holstered his gun which he had pulled as he spoke to +Cotton. "They'll git me for this," he whispered to himself. "It was +an even break--but they'll git me." Pete fought back his fear with a +peculiar pride--the pride that scorned to appear frightened before his +chum, Andy White. The quarrel had occurred so unexpectedly and +terminated so suddenly, that Pete could not yet realize the full extent +of the tragedy. While quite conscious of what he was doing and +intended to do, he felt as though he were walking in a horrible dream +from which he would never awaken. His instincts were as keen as +ever--for he was already planning his next move--but his sensibilities +had suffered a blunt shock--were numb to all external influence. He +knew that the sun was shining, yet he did not feel its warmth. He was +walking toward the cabin, and toward Andy. He stumbled as he walked, +taking no account of the irregularities of the ground. He could hardly +believe that he had killed Gary. To convince himself against his own +will he mechanically drew his gun and glanced at the two empty shells. +"Three and two is five," he muttered. "I shot twict." He did not +realize that Gary had shot at him--that a shred of his flannel shirt +was dangling from his sleeve where Gary's bullet had cut it. "Wonder +if Andy heard?" he kept asking himself. "I got to tell Andy." + +Almost before he realized it he was standing under the cedar and Andy +was speaking. "Thought I heard some one shoot, over toward the woods." + +As Pete did not answer, Andy thought that the horse had got away from +him. "Did you get him?" he queried. + +Pete nodded dully. "I got him. He's over there--in the brush." + +"Why didn't you fetch him in? Did he get the best of you? You look +like he give you a tussle." + +"I got him--twict," said Pete. + +"Twict? Say, Pete, are you loco? What's ailin' you, anyhow?" + +"Nothin'. Me and Gary just had it out. He's over there--in the brush." + +"Gary!" + +"Yes. I reckon I got him." + +"Hell!" The ruddy color sank from Andy's face. He had supposed that +Gary and Cotton were by this time tracking the strayed horses toward +the T-Bar-T. "Where's Cotton?" he asked. + +"I told him to fan it." + +"But, Pete--!" + +"I know. They's no use talkin', Andy. I come back to tell you--and to +git your rope. Mine's over by Gary." + +"What you goin' to do, Pete?" + +"Me? Why, I'm goin' to drift as soon as I can git a saddle on Blue. +Cotton he seen the shootin'--but that don't do me no good. He'll swear +that I pulled first. He'd say 'most anything--he was too scared to +know what come off. Gary's hand was on his gun when I let him have +it--twict." + +Andy noticed then Pete's torn sleeve. "I reckon that's right. Look at +that!" + +Pete turned his head and glanced at his sleeve. "Never knowed he +shot--it was all done so quick." He seemed to awaken suddenly to the +significance of his position. "I'll take your rope and go git Smoke. +Then I'm goin' to drift." + +"But where?" + +"You're my pardner, Andy, but I ain't sayin'. Then you won't have to +lie. You'll have to tell Jim--and tell him it was like I said--_if +Gary come at me, that would be different_. I'm leavin' it to you to +square me with Jim Bailey." Pete picked up the rope and started toward +the spring. + +"I'm goin' with you," said White, "and ketch my hoss. I aim to see you +through with this." + +In an hour they were back at the cabin with the horses. Andy White +glanced at his watch. "Cotton is afoot--for I seen his hoss over +there. But he can make it to the T-Bar-T in three hours. That'll give +us a start of two hours, anyhow. I don't know which way you aim to +ride, but--" + +"I'm playin' this hand alone," stated Pete as he saddled Blue Smoke. +"No use your gittin' in bad." + +White made no comment, but cinched up his pony. Pete stepped to him +and held out his hand. "So-long, Andy. You been a mighty square +pardner." + +"Nothin' doin'!" exclaimed Andy. "I'm with you to the finish." + +"Nope, Andy. If we was both to light out, you'd be in it as bad as me." + +"Then what do you say if we both ride down to Concho and report to the +sheriff?" + +"I tried that onct--when they killed Pop Annersley. I know how that +would work." + +"But what you goin' to do?" + +"I'm ridin'," and Pete swung to his horse. Blue Smoke pitched across +the clearing under the spur and rein that finally turned him toward the +south. Pete's sombrero flew off as he headed for the timber. Andy, +reining 'round his horse, that fretted to follow, swung down and caught +up Pete's hat on the run. Pete had pulled up near the edge of the +timber. Andy, as he was about to give Pete his hat, suddenly changed +it for his own. "For luck!" he cried, as Pete slackened rein and Blue +Smoke shot down the dim forest trail. + +Pete, perhaps influenced by Montoya's example, always wore a +high-crowned black sombrero. Andy's hat was the usual gray. In the +excitement of leaving, Pete had not thought of that; but as he rode, he +suspected Andy's motive, and glanced back. But Andy was not following, +or if he were, he was riding slowly. + +Meanwhile Andy cheerfully put himself in the way of assisting Pete to +escape. He knew the country and thought he knew where Pete was headed +for. Before nightfall a posse would be riding the high country hunting +the slayer of Gary. They would look for a cowboy wearing a black +sombrero. Realizing the risk that he ran, and yet as careless of that +risk as though he rode to a fiesta, Young Andy deliberately turned back +to where Gary lay--he had not yet been to that spot--and, dismounting, +picked up Pete's rope. He glanced at Gary, shivered, and swung to his +horse. Riding so that his trail would be easy to read he set off +toward the open country, east. The fact that he had no food with him, +and that the country was arid and that water was scarce, did not +trouble him. All he hoped for was to delay or mislead the posse long +enough to enable Pete to reach the southern desert. There Pete might +have one chance in twenty of making his final escape. Perhaps it was a +foolish thing to do, but Andy White, inspired by a motive of which +there is no finer, did not stop to reason about it. "He that giveth +his life for a friend . . ." Andy knew nothing of such a quotation. +He was riding into the desert, quite conscious of the natural hazards +of the trail, and keen to the possibilities that might follow in the +form of an excited posse not too discriminating, in their eagerness to +capture an outlaw, yet he rode with a light heart. After all, Pete was +not guilty of murder. He had but defended his own life. Andy's heart +was light because of the tang of adventure, and a certain appreciation +of what a disappointed posse might feel and express--and because +Romance ran lightly beside him, heartening him on his way; Romance, +whose ears are deaf to all moral considerations and whose eyes see only +the true adventurer, be he priest or pirate; Romance whose eyes are +blind to those who fear to dare. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A FALSE TRAIL + +"Sure he's dead!" reiterated Cotton. "Didn't I see them two holes +plumb through him and the blood soakin' his shirt when I turned him +over? If I'd 'a' had my gun on me that Young Pete would be right side +of Steve, right now! But I couldn't do nothin' without a gun. Pete +Annersley was plumb scared. That's why he killed Steve. Jest you +gimme a gun and watch me ride him down! I aim to settle with that Jay." + +Cotton was talking to Houck of the T-Bar-T, blending fact and fiction +in a blustering attempt to make himself believe he had played the man. +During his long, foot-weary journey to the ranch he had roughly +invented this speech and tried to memorize it. Through repetition he +came to believe that he was telling the truth. Incidentally he had not +paused to catch up his horse, which was a slight oversight, considering +the trail from the Blue to his home ranch. + +"What's the matter with the gun you're packin'?" asked Houck. + +Cotton had forgotten his own gun. + +"I--it was like this, Bill. After Young Pete killed Gary, I went back +to the shack and got my gun. At first, Andy White wasn't goin' to +leave me have it--but I tells him to fan it. I reckon he's pretty nigh +home by now." + +"Thought you said you didn't see White after the shooting--that he +forked his horse and rode for the Concho? Cotton, you're lyin' so fast +you're like to choke." + +"Honest, Bill! If I'd 'a' had my gun . . ." + +"Oh, hell! Don't try to swing that bluff. Where's your horse?" + +"I couldn't ketch him, honest." + +"Thought you said you caught him in the brush and tied him to a tree +and Young Annersley threatened to kill you if you went for your saddle." + +"That's right--honest, Bill, that's what he said." + +"Then how is it that Bobby Lent caught your horse strayin' in more 'n a +hour ago? Dam' if I believe a word you say. You're plumb crazy." + +"Honest, Bill. I hope to die if Steve Gary ain't layin' over there +with two holes in him. He's sure dead. Do you think I footed it all +the way jest because I like walkin'?" + +Houck frowned and shook his head. "You say him and Young Pete had come +to words?" + +"Yep; about ole man Annersley. Steve was tellin' me about the raid +when Pete steps up and tells him to say it over ag'in. Steve started +to talk when Pete cuts down on him--twict. My God, he was quick! I +never even seen him draw." + +"Did Gary say _he_ was the one that plugged Annersley?" + +"Yep. Said he did it--and asked Pete what he was goin' to do about it." + +"Then Steve was drunk or crazy. You go git a horse and burn the trail +to Concho. Tell Sutton that Young Pete Annersley killed Gary, up to +the Blue Mesa. Tell him we're out after Young Pete. Can you git that +straight?" + +"What if the sheriff was to pinch me for bein' in that scrap?" + +"You! In a gun-fight? No. He wouldn't believe that if you told him +so. You jest tell Sutton what I said, and git goin'! Don't lie to +him--or he'll spot it and pinch you dam' quick." + +With Cotton gone, Houck saddled up and rode out to where one of his men +was mending fence. "Take your horse and git all the boys you can reach +before night. Young Pete Annersley shot Steve over to the Blue this +mornin'." + +The cowboy, unlike Cotton, whistled his surprise, dropped his tools, +mounted, and was off before Houck had reined back toward the +ranch-house. + +It was near twelve that night when a quiet band of riders dismounted at +the Annersley cabin, separated, and trailed off in the darkness to look +for Gary. One of them found him where he had fallen and signaled with +his gun. They carried Gary to the cabin. In the flickering light of +the open stove they saw that he was still alive. There was one chance +in a thousand that he could recover. They washed his wounds and one of +the men set out toward Concho, to telephone to Enright for a doctor. +The rest grouped around the stove and talked in low tones, waiting for +daylight. "Chances are the kid went south," said Houck, half to +himself. + +"How about young White?" queried a cowboy. + +"I dunno. Either he rode with Pete Annersley or he's back at the +Concho. Daylight'll tell." + +"If Steve could talk--" said the cowboy. + +"I guess Steve is done for," said Houck. "I knew Young Pete was a +tough kid--but I didn't figure he'd try to down Steve." + +"Supposin' they both had a hand in it--White and Young Pete?" + +Houck shook his head. "Anybody got any whiskey?" he asked. + +Some one produced a flask. Houck knelt and raised Gary's head, tilting +the flask carefully. Presently Gary's lips moved and his chest heaved. + +"Who was it? White?" questioned Houck. + +Gary moved his head in the negative. + +"Young Pete?" Gary's white lips shaped to a faint whisper--"Yes." + +One of the men folded a slicker and put it under Gary's head. + +Houck stood up. "I guess it's up to us to get Pete Annersley." + +"You can count me out," said a cowboy immediately. "Steve was allus +huntin' trouble and it looks like he found it this trip. They's plenty +without me to ride down the kid. Young Pete may be bad--but I figure +he had a dam' good excuse when he plugged Steve, here. You can count +me out." + +"And me," said another. "If young Pete was a growed man--" + +"Same here," interrupted the third. "Any kid that's got nerve enough +to down Steve has got a right to git away with it. If you corner him +he's goin' to fight--and git bumped off by a bunch of growed men--mebby +four to one. That ain't my style." + +Houck turned to several cowboys who had not spoken. They were Gary's +friends, of his kind--in a measure. "How is it, boys?" asked Houck. + +"We stick," said one, and the others nodded. + +"Then you boys"--and Houck indicated the first group--"can ride back to +the ranch. Or, here, Larkin, you can stay with Steve till the doc +shows up. The rest of you can drift." + +Without waiting for dawn the men who had refused to go out after Pete +rode back along the hill-trail to the ranch. But before they left, +Houck took what hastily packed food they had and distributed it among +the posse, who packed it in their saddle-pockets. The remaining +cowboys lay down for a brief sleep. They were up at dawn, and after a +hasty breakfast set out looking for tracks. Houck himself discovered +Andy White's tracks leading from the spot where Gary had been found, +and calling the others together, set off across the eastern mesa. + +Meanwhile Andy White was sleeping soundly in a coulee many miles from +the homestead, and just within sight of a desert ranch, to which he had +planned to ride at daybreak, ask for food and depart, leaving the +impression that he was Pete Annersley in haste to get beyond the reach +of the law. He had stopped at the coulee because he had found grass +and water for his horse and because he did not want to risk being found +at the ranch-house. A posse would naturally head for the ranch to +search and ask questions. Fed and housed he might oversleep and be +caught. Then his service to Pete would amount to little. But if he +rode in at daybreak, ahead of the posse, ate and departed, leaving a +hint as to his assumed identity, he could mislead them a day longer at +least. He built all his reasoning on the hope that the posse would +find and follow his tracks. + +Under the silent stars he slept, his head on his saddle, and near him +lay Pete's black sombrero. + +In the disillusioning light of morning, that which Andy had taken to be +a ranch-house dwindled to a goat-herder's shack fronted by a +brush-roofed lean-to. Near it was a diminutive corral and a sun-faded +tent. The old Indian herder seemed in no way surprised to see a young +rider dismount and approach cautiously--for Andy had entered into the +spirit of the thing. He paused to glance apprehensively back and +survey the western horizon. Andy greeted the Indian, who grunted his +acknowledgment in the patois of the plains. + +"Any vaqueros ride by here this morning?" queried Andy. + +The herder shook his head. + +"Well, I guess I got time to eat," said Andy. + +A faint twinkle touched the old Indian's eyes, but his face was as +expressionless as a dried apple. + +"Si," he said. + +"But not a whole lot of time," asserted Andy. + +The Indian rose and fetched a pail of goat's milk and some tortillas +from the shack. He shuffled back to his hermitage and reappeared with +a tin cup. Andy, who meanwhile had consumed one leathery tortilla, +shook his head. "Never mind the cup, amigo." He tilted the pail and +drank--paused for breath, and drank again. He set the pail down empty. +"I was some dry," he said, smiling. "Got any more of these rawhide +flapjacks?" + +The herder nodded, stooped to enter the shack, and came out with a +half-dozen of the tortillas, which Andy rolled and stuffed in his +saddle-pocket. "Mighty good trail bread!" he said enthusiastically. +"You can't wear 'em out." + +Again the herder nodded, covertly studying this young rider who did not +look like an outlaw, whose eye was clear and untroubled. Well, what +did it matter?--a man must eat. + +The old Indian had given unquestioningly from his poverty, with the +simple dignity of true hospitality. As for who this stranger was, of +what he had done--that was none of his affair. A man must eat. + +"I'm payin' for this,"--and Andy proffered a silver dollar. + +The other turned the piece round in his fingers as though hesitating to +accept it. + +"Si. But has not the senor some little money?" + +"That's all right, amigo. Keep it." + +The herder shook his head, and held up two fingers. Andy smiled. "I +get you! You don't aim to bank all your wealth in one lump. Lemme +see? All I got left is a couple of two-bit pieces. Want 'em?" The +herder nodded and took the two coins and handed back the dollar. Then +he padded stolidly to the shack and reappeared, bearing a purple velvet +jacket which was ornamented with buttons made from silver quarters. He +held it up, indicating that two of the buttons were missing. +"Muchacha," he grunted, pointing toward the south. + +"I get you. Your girl is out looking after the goats, and you aim to +kind of surprise her with a full set of buttons when she gets back. +She'll ask you right quick where you got 'em, eh?" + +A faint grin touched the old Indian's mouth. The young vaquero was of +the country. He understood. + +"Well, it beats me," said Andy. "Now, a white man is all for the big +money. He'd take the dollar, get it changed, and be two-bits ahead, +every time. But I got to drift along. Say, amigo, if any of my +friends come a-boilin down this way, jest tell 'em that Pete--that's +me--was in a hurry, and headed east. Sabe?" + +"Si." + +"Pete--with the black sombrero." Andy touched his hat. + +"Si. 'Pete.'" + +"Adios. Wisht I could take a goat along. That milk was sure +comfortin'." + +The herder watched Andy mount and ride away. Then he plodded back to +the shack and busied himself patiently soldering tiny rings on the +silver pieces, that the set of buttons for his daughter's jacket might +be complete. He knew that the young stranger must be a fugitive, +otherwise he would not have ridden into the desert so hurriedly. He +had not inquired about water, nor as to feed for his horse. Truly he +was in great haste! + +Life meant but three things to the old Indian. Food, sleep, and +physical freedom. He had once been in jail and had suffered as only +those used to the open sky suffer when imprisoned. The young vaquero +had eaten, and had food with him. His eyes had shown that he was not +in need of sleep. Yet he had all but said there would be men looking +for him. + +The old Indian rose and picked up a blanket. In the doorway he paused, +surveying the western horizon. Satisfied that no one was in sight, he +padded out to where Andy had tied his horse and swept the blanket +across the tracks in the loose sand. Walking backwards he drew the +blanket after him, obliterating the hoof-prints until he came to a rise +where the ground was rocky. Without haste he returned and squatted in +the shack. He was patiently working on a silver piece when some one +called out peremptorily. + +The old Indian's face was expressionless as he nodded to the posse of +cowboys. + +"Seen anything of a young fella ridin' a blue roan and sportin' a black +hat?" asked Houck. + +The Indian shook his head. + +"He's lyin'," asserted a cowboy. "Comes as natural as breathin' to +him. We trailed a hoss to this here wickiup"--the hot lust of the +man-hunt was in the cowboy's eyes as he swung down--"and we aim to see +who was ridin' him!" + +Houck and his three companions sat their horses as the fourth member of +the posse shouldered the old Indian aside and entered the shack. +"Nothin' in there," he said, as he reappeared, "but somebody's been +here this mornin'." And he pointed to the imprint of a high-heeled +boot in the sand of the yard. + +"Which way did he ride?" asked Houck, indicating the footprint. + +The old herder shook his head. "Quien sabe?" he grunted, shrugging his +shoulders. + +"Who knows, eh? Well, you know--for one. And you're goin' to say--or +there'll be a heap big bonfire right here where your shack is." + +Meanwhile one of the men, who had pushed out into the desert and was +riding in a circle, hallooed and waved his arm. + +"He headed this way," he called. "Some one dragged a blanket over his +trail." + +The cowboy who was afoot strode up to the herder. "We'll learn you to +play hoss with this outfit!" He swung his quirt and struck the Indian +across the face. The old Indian stepped back and stiffened. His +sunken eyes blazed with hatred, but he made no sound or sign. He knew +that if he as much as lifted his hand the men would kill him. To him +they were the law, searching for a fugitive. The welt across his face +burned like the sear of fire--the cowardly brand of hatred on the +impassive face of primitive fortitude! This because he had fed a +hungry man and delayed his pursuers. + +Long after the posse had disappeared down the far reaches of the +desert, the old Indian stood gazing toward the east, vaguely wondering +what would have happened to him had he struck a white man across the +face with a quirt. He would have been shot down--and his slayer would +have gone unpunished. He shook his head, unable to understand the +white man's law. His primitive soul knew a better law, "an eye for an +eye and a tooth for a tooth," a law that knew no caste and was as old +as the sun-swept spaces of his native land. He was glad that his +daughter had not been there. The white men might have threatened and +insulted her. If they had . . . The old herder padded to his shack +and squatted down, to finish soldering the tiny rings on the buttons +for his daughter's jacket. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE BLACK SOMBRERO + +When Andy had ridden far enough to feel secure in turning and riding +north--in fact, his plan was to work back to the Concho in a wide +circle--he reined in and dismounted. From a low ridge he surveyed the +western desert, approximated his bearings, and had his foot in the +stirrup when he saw four tiny dots that bobbed up and down on the +distant sky-line of the west. He had left an easy trail to follow and +the pursuers were riding hard. They were still a long distance from +him. He led his horse down the far side of the ridge and mounted. He +rode straight east for perhaps a quarter of a mile. Then he turned and +at right angles to his trail sped north behind the long, low, sandy +ridge. He could not be seen until the posse had topped it--and even +then it was probable they would fling down the slope, following his +tracks until they came to where he had turned. Straight ahead of him +the ridge swung to the left. In half an hour or so he would again +cross it, which he hoped to do before he was discovered. Once over the +ridge, he would head for the Concho. To follow him would mean that his +pursuers would be riding directly away from Pete's trail. Many long +desert miles lay between Andy and the Concho, but he argued that his +horse was as fresh as the horses of his pursuers. He would give them a +good run. If they overtook him before they reached the ranch, the most +they could do would be to curse him for misleading them. He reasoned +that the posse was from the T-Bar-T--that at best the sheriff could not +have been advised of the shooting in time to join them. They would +have no official right to detain him or interfere with his +progress--once they knew who he was. + +A trot, a lope, then back to a swinging trot again--and as yet no +riders had appeared on the hills. Andy was making good time. The +crest of the ridge shimmered in the noon sun. At this pace he would be +over and down the western side before they saw him. + +When the posse finally caught sight of the man they were after far out +across the level and riding toward the west, they knew at once that he +was making for the Concho and what protection his fellows might afford +him under the circumstances. This did not fit into their scheme. The +man-hunt had tuned their pulses to a high pitch. They wanted to lay +hands on Gary's slayer--to disarm him and bring him into the town of +Concho themselves--or, if he showed fight, to "get" him. They forgot +that he was little more than a boy. He was an enemy--and potently +dangerous. + +"It's Young Pete," said a cowboy. "I know him by that black hat." + +Plying quirt and spur the posse flung down the ridge and out across the +plain below. They would ride their quarry down before he reached the +boundary of the Concho--before he got among his friends. + +Andy turned and glanced back. They were gaining on him. He knew that +his own horse was doing his best. Again he glanced back. The riders +were forcing their horses to a terrific pace that could not last long. +In a mile or so they would be close enough to use their rifles. But +the harder they rode the better Andy liked it. They would be in sorry +shape to make the long ride south after Pete, when they realized that +they were chasing the wrong man. If he could get out of it without +getting shot, he would consider himself lucky. Ahead of him lay a flat +of brushless land offering no shelter. He hoped that his horse would +not be killed by a chance shot. In that event his pride would force +him to retaliate, until he was either killed or captured. He had about +made up his mind to rein up and surrender when he heard the singing +_whizz-zip_ of a bullet that sprayed sand ahead of him. Then came the +faint _pop_ of a rifle far behind. He pulled up, swiftly unbuckled his +belt, and hung his gun on the saddle-horn. Then he stepped away from +his horse--an unconsciously fine thing to do--and turned toward the +distant posse. Again came that shrill, sinister _whizz-zip_ and he was +standing bareheaded in the glaring sun as the black sombrero spun round +and settled lightly in the sand beside him. He wisely thrust up his +hands--arguing that if the posse could see to shoot with such accuracy +they could see and possibly appreciate his attitude. He felt outraged, +and wanted to fight. He did not realize at the moment that his +pursuers were acting in good faith according to their viewpoint. + +Meanwhile they flung toward him, spreading out fanwise in case of some +possible treachery. Without moving a muscle Andy stood with his hands +raised, blinkingly trying to identify each individual rider. + +There was Houck on his big gray cow-horse. To the left rode Simpson, +known all over the range as Gary's close friend. Andy half-expected to +see Cotton with the posse, but Cotton was not there. He did not +recognize the two riders on the wings of the posse. + +"Mornin', fellas!" he called as the cowboys swept up. "What's the +idea?" + +"This!" snarled Simpson as he took out his rope. + +"Hold on!" cried Houck, dismounting and covering White. "This ain't +our man! It's young Andy White!" + +"You might 'a' found that out before you started shootin'," said Andy, +lowering his hands. "My gun's on the saddle there." + +Despite the fact that it was Andy White, Houck took no chances, but +searched him. Then, "what in hell was _your_ idea?" + +"Me? Why, I was ridin' to the Concho when one of you guys shot my hat +off. I reckoned it was about time to pull up." + +"Ridin' to the Concho, eh? I suppose you'll say next that you got lost +and thought the Concho was over this way?" + +"Nope. I was ridin' to the Concho to report the shootin' of Steve Gary +to my boss." + +Houck, who had imagined that White would disclaim any knowledge of the +shooting until forced to admit it, took a new tack. "Where's Pete +Annersley?" + +"That's jest what I was wonderin'. Last time I see him he was fannin' +it east. I took out after him--but I must 'a' missed him." + +"That'll do to tell the sheriff. We want to know what you know about +the shootin'-up of Steve." + +"Nothin'. I was over by the shack waiting for Pete when I thought I +heard a couple of shots. Didn't pay no attention to that--'cause Pete +was always poppin' his gun at somethin'. Then pretty soon Pete walks +in, and I go out with him and help him ketch his hoss. He don't say +much--and I don't. Then first thing I know he lights on that little +buckskin hoss of his--" + +"And forgets his hat," interrupted Houck. + +"Nope. He was wearin' a hat the last I seen of him." + +"And ridin' a buckskin cayuse, eh? Now Cotton says it was a blue roan." + +Andy laughed. "That hombre Cotton's got mighty poor eyesight. Why, he +couldn't see good enough to ketch up his own hoss. Pete told me Cotton +set out for home afoot. I didn't see him, but I'd take Pete's word +against Cotton's any time." + +"Mebby you think we're takin' your word about Young Pete--and the +shootin'?? + +"Why not?" + +"We can make you talk!" threatened Simpson. + +"I reckon you could," said Andy easily. "Four to one--and my gun +hangin' over there on the saddle-horn. But suppose you did? How are +you goin' to' know I'll talk straight or lie to you? You ain't throwed +any big scare into me yet"--and Andy stooped and caught up his hat and +thrust his finger through the hole in the crown--"because I ain't done +nothin' to be scared about. I ain't shot nobody and I ain't seen +nobody get shot. Cotton could 'a' told you that." + +"That's right," asserted Houck reluctantly. "White here had nothin' to +do with the shootin'. Cotton said that. We lost some time trailin' +you"--Houck turned to Andy--"but we don't aim to lose any more. Which +way did young Pete ride?" + +Andy laughed. "You would say I lied if I told you. But I'm goin' to +tell you straight. Young Pete took the old Ranger Trail south, through +the timber. And I want to tell you gentlemen he was goin' like hell +a-smokin' when I seen him last. Mebby you don't believe that? And +there's somethin' else--that old Ranger Trail forks three times this +side of Cienegas--and she forks twice afore she crosses the line. +She's a dim trail when she's doin' her best acrost the rocks, and +they's places in her where she's as blind as a dead ox. Water is as +scarce as cow-punchers at a camp-meetin' and they ain't no feed this +side of Showdown. And Showdown never tore its shirt tryin' to be +polite to strangers. I been there. 'Course, when it comes to rustlers +and cardsharps and killers--but you fellas know how that is. I--" + +"Come on, boys," said Houck, reining round. "White here is puttin' up +a talk to hold us--and Young Pete's usin' the time." + +Andy watched them ride away, a queer expression lighting his face. +"They hate like the Ole Scratch to believe me--and they are hatin' +themselves for havin' to." + +He pulled off Pete's hat and turned it over, gazing at the two little +round holes curiously. "Pete, old scout," he said, smiling +whimsically, "here's hopin' they never come closer to gettin' you than +they did to gettin' me. Keep a-ridin'--for you sure got to be that +'Ridin' Kid from Powder River' this journey--and then some." + +Andy turned the black sombrero round in his hands. "All this here +hocus comes of the killin' of a old man that never lifted a finger +against nobody--and as game a kid as ever raked a hoss with a spur. +But one killin' always means more. I ain't no gunman--or no killer. +But, by cracky! some of my ideas has changed since I got that hole in +my hat. I wisht I'd 'a' rode with Pete. I wouldn't ask nothin' better +right now than to stand back to back with him, out in the open +somewhere and let 'em come! Because why? Because the only law that a +man's got in this country is hisself--and if he's right, why, crossin' +over with his gun explainin' his idees ain't the worst way to go. +Anyhow, it ain't any worse than gettin' throwed from a bronc and +gettin' his neck broke or gettin' stomped out in a stampede. Them's +just regular, common ways of goin' out. I just wonder how Pete is +makin' it?" + +Andy put on his hat, glanced at the sun, and strode to his pony. Far +across the eastern desert he saw the posse--a mere moving dot against +the blue. "Wolf-hungry to make a killin' because they're foolin' +themselves that they're actin' out the law! Well, come on, Chico, old +hoss, we got to make home before sundown." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SPIDER + +Where the old Ranger Trail, crossing the Blue Mesa, leaves the high +mesa and meanders off into the desert, there is a fork which leads +southwest, to the Apache country--a grim and waterless land--and +finally swings south toward the border. Pete dismounted at this fork, +pulled up his slackened cinches, and making certain that he was leaving +a plain track, rode down the main trail for half a mile. Then he +reined his pony to a bare spot on the grass-dotted tufa, and again +dismounted. He looped Blue Smoke's fore feet, then threw him, and +pulled his shoes with a pair of wire nippers, and stowed the shoes in +his saddle-pockets. + +He again rode directly down the trail, surmising that the occasional +track of a barefoot horse would appear natural enough should the posse, +whom he knew would follow him, split up and ride both trails. Farther +on he again swung from the trail to the tufa, never slackening pace, +and rode across the broken ground for several miles. He had often seen +the unshod and unbranded ponies of the high country run along a trail +for a mile or so and then dash off across the open. Of course, if the +posse took the direct trail to the border, paying no attention to +tracks, they would eventually overtake him. Pete was done with the +companionship of men who allowed the wanton killing of a man like +Annersley to go unpunished. He knew that if he were caught, he would +most probably be hanged or imprisoned for the shooting of Gary--if he +were not killed in being taken. The T-Bar-T interests ruled the +courts. Moreover, his reputation was against him. Ever since the raid +on Annersley's place Pete had been pointed out as the "kid who stood +off the raiders and got two of them." And Pete knew that the very folk +who seemed proud of the fact would be the first to condemn him for the +killing of Gary. He was outlawed--not for avenging the death of his +foster-father, but actually because he had defended his own life, a +fact difficult to establish in court and which would weigh little +against the evidence of the six or eight men who had heard him +challenge Gary at the round-up. Jim Bailey had been right. Men talked +too much as a usual thing. Gary had talked too much. + +Pete realized that his loyalty to the memory of Annersley had earned +him disrepute. He resented the injustice of this, and all his old +hatred of the law revived. Yet despite all logic of justice as against +law--he could see Gary's hand clutching against his chest, his staring +eyes, and the red ooze starting through those tense fingers--Pete +reasoned that had he not been so skilled and quick with a gun, he would +be in Gary's place now. As it was, he was alive and had a good horse +between his knees. + +To ride an unshod horse in the southern desert is to invite disaster. +Toward evening, Pete pulled up at a water-hole, straightened the nails +in the horseshoes and tacked them on again with a piece of rock. They +would hold until he reached the desert town of Showdown--a place of +ill-repute and a rendezvous for outlawry and crime. + +He rode on until he came within sight of the town--a dim huddle of low +buildings in the starlight. He swung off the trail, hobbled his horse, +fastened his rope to the hobbles, and tied that in turn to a long, +heavy slab of rock, and turned in. He would not risk losing his horse +in this desert land. At best a posse could not reach Showdown before +noon the next day, and rather than blunder into Showdown at night and +take unnecessary risks, he decided to rest, and ride in at sunup, when +he would be able to see what he was doing and better estimate the +possibilities of getting food for himself and his horse and of finding +refuge in some out-of-the-way ranch or homestead. In spite of his +vivid imaginings he slept well. At dawn he caught up his pony and rode +into town. + +Showdown boasted some fifteen or eighteen low-roofed adobes, the most +pretentious being the saloon. These all faced a straggling road which +ran east and west, disappearing at either end of the town as though +anxious to obliterate itself in the clean sand of the desert. The +environs of Showdown were garnished with tin cans and trash, dirt and +desolation. Unlike the ordinary cow-town this place was not sprightly, +but morose, with an aspect of hating itself for existing. Even the +railroad swung many miles to the south as though anxious to leave the +town to its own pernicious isolation. + +The fixed population consisted of a few Mexicans and one white man, +known as "The Spider," who ran the saloon and consequently owned +Showdown body and--but Showdown had no soul. + +Men arrived and departed along the several desert trails that led in +and out of the town. These men seldom tarried long. And they usually +came alone, perchance from the Blue, the Gila, the T-Bar-T, or from +below the border, for their business was with the border rustlers and +parasites. Sheriffs of four counties seldom disturbed the place, +because a man who had got as far south as Showdown was pretty hard to +apprehend. From there to the border lay a trackless desert. Showdown +was a rendezvous for that inglorious legion, "The Men Who Can't Come +Back," renegades who when below the line worked machine guns for +whichever side of the argument promised the more loot. Horse- and +cattle-thieves, killers, escaped convicts, came and went--ominous birds +of passage, the scavengers of war and banditry. + +The Spider was lean, with legs warped by long years in the saddle. He +was called The Spider because of his physical attributes as well as +because of his attitude toward life. He never went anywhere, yet he +accumulated sustenance. He usually had a victim tangled in his web. +It was said that The Spider never let a wounded outlaw die for lack of +proper attention if he considered the outlaw worth saving--as an +investment. And possibly this was the secret of his power, for he was +ever ready to grub-stake or doctor any gentleman in need or wounded in +a desert affair--and he had had a large experience in caring for +gun-shot wounds. + +Pete, dismounting at the worn hitching-rail, entered the saloon, nodded +casually to The Spider, and called for a drink. The Spider, who always +officiated at the bar for politic reasons, aside from the selling of +liquor, noticed that the young stranger's eyes were clear and +steady--that he showed no trace of hard night-riding; yet he had +arrived in Showdown at sunup. As Pete drank, The Spider sized up his +horse--which looked fresh. He had already noticed that Pete's gun hung +well down and handy, and assumed correctly that it was not worn for +ornament. The Spider knew that the drink was a mere formality--that +the stranger was not a drinking man in the larger sense. + +Neither spoke until a Mexican, quite evidently in haste, rode up and +entered the saloon. The Mexican bore the strange news that four riders +were expected to reach Showdown that day--perhaps by noon. Then The +Spider spoke, and Pete was startled by the voice, which was pitched in +a high key yet was little more than a whisper. + +The Mexican began to expostulate shrilly. The Spider had cursed him +for a loud-mouthed fool. Again came that sinister whisper, like the +rush of a high wind in the reeds. The Mexican turned and silently left +the room. When Pete, who had pretended absorption in thought, glanced +up, the Spider's eyes were fixed on Pete's horse, which had swung +around as the Mexican departed. The Spider's deep-set eyes shifted to +Pete, who smiled. The Spider nodded. Interpreted this would have +read: "I see you ride a horse with the Concho brand." And Pete's eyes +had retorted: "I sure do. I was waiting for you to say that." + +Still The Spider had not addressed his new guest nor had Pete uttered a +word. It was a sort of cool, deliberate duel of will power. Pete +turned his head and surveyed the long room leisurely. The Spider +pushed the bottle toward him, silently inviting him to drink again. +Pete shook his head. The Spider hobbled from behind the bar and moving +quickly across the room flung open the back door, discovering a patio +set with tables and chairs. Pete nodded. + +They were establishing a tentative understanding without speech. The +test was hard for Pete. The Spider was uncanny--though quick of +movement and shifty of eye--intensely alive withal. + +As for The Spider himself, he was not displeased. This was but a +youth, yet a youth who was not unfamiliar with the fine points of a +rendezvous. The back door opened on a patio and the door in the wall +of the patio opened on a corral. The corral bars opened to the +desert--Pete had almost sensed that, without seeing farther than the +patio, and had nodded his approval, without speaking. The Spider +considered this highly commendable. + +Pete knew at a glance that The Spider was absolutely without +honor--that his soul was as crooked as his badly bowed legs; and that +he called no man friend and meant it. + +And The Spider knew, without other evidence than his own eyes found, +that this young stranger would not hesitate to kill him if sufficient +provocation offered. Nor did this displease the autocrat of Showdown +in the least. He was accustomed to dealing with such men. Yet one +thing bothered him. Had the stranger made a get-away that would bring +a posse to Showdown--as the Mexican had intimated? If so the sooner +the visitor left, the better. If he were merely some cowboy looking +for easy money and excitement, that was a different matter. Or perhaps +he had but stolen a horse, or butchered and sold beef that bore a +neighbor's brand. Yet there was something about Pete that impressed +The Spider more deeply than mere horse- or cattle-stealing could. The +youth's eye was not the eye of a thief. He had not come to Showdown to +consort with rustlers. He was somewhat of a puzzle--but The Spider, +true to his name, was silently patient. + +Meanwhile the desert sun rolled upward and onward, blazing down on the +huddled adobes, and slowly filtering into the room. With his back to +the bar, Pete idly flicked bits of a broken match at a knot-hole in the +floor. Tired of that, he rolled a cigarette with one hand, and +swiftly. Pete's hands were compact, of medium size, with the finger +joints lightly defined--the hands of a conjuror--or, as The Spider +thought, of a born gunman. And Pete was always doing something with +his hands, even when apparently oblivious to everything around him. A +novice at reading men would have considered him nervous. He was far +from nervous. This was proven to The Spider's satisfaction when Malvey +entered--"Bull" Malvey, red-headed, bluff and huge, of a gaunt frame, +with large-knuckled hands and big feet. Malvey tossed a coin on the +bar noisily, and in that one act Pete read him for what he was--a man +who "bullied" his way through life with much bluster and profanity, but +a man who, if he boasted, would make good his boast. What appeared to +be hearty good-nature in Malvey was in reality a certain blatantly +boisterous vigor--a vigor utterly soulless, and masking a nature at +bottom as treacherous as The Spider's--but in contrast squalid and +mean. Malvey would steal five dollars. The Spider would not touch a +job for less than five hundred. While cruel, treacherous, and a +killer, The Spider had nothing small or mean about him. And subtle to +a degree, he hated the blunt-spoken, blustering Malvey, but for reasons +unadvertised, called him friend. + +"Have a drink?" + +"Thanks." And Pete poured himself a noticeably small quantity. + +"This is Malvey--Bull Malvey," said The Spider, hesitating for Pete to +name himself. + +"Pete's my name. I left the rest of it to home." + +Malvey laughed. "That goes. How's things over to the Concho?" + +"I ain't been there since yesterday." + +The Spider blinked, which was a sign that he was pleased. He never +laughed. + +Malvey winked at The Spider. "You ain't ridin' back that way to-day, +mebby? I'd like to send word--" + +Pete shook his head. "Nope. I aim to stay right here a spell." + +"If you're intendin' to _keep_ that horse out there, perhaps you'd like +to feed him." And The Spider indicated the direction of the corral +with a twist of the head. + +"Which is correct," said Pete. + +"Help yourself," said The Spider. + +"I get you," said Pete significantly; and he turned and strode out. + +"What in hell is he talkin' about?" queried Malvey. + +"His horse." + +Malvey frowned. "Some smooth kid, eh?" + +The Spider nodded. + +Pete appreciated that his own absence was desired; that these men were +quietly curious to find out who he was--and what he had done that +brought him to Showdown. But Malvey knew nothing about Pete, nor of +any recent trouble over Concho way. And Pete, unsaddling his pony, +knew that he would either make good with The Spider or else he would +make a mistake, and then there would be no need for further subterfuge. +Pete surveyed the corral and outbuildings. The whole arrangement was +cleverly planned. He calculated from the position of the sun that it +lacked about three hours of noon. Well, so far he had played his hand +with all the cards on the table--card for card with The Spider alone. +Now there would be a new deal. Pete would have to play accordingly. + +When he again entered the saloon, from the rear, The Spider and Malvey +were standing out in the road, gazing toward the north. "I see only +three of them," he heard The Spider say in his peculiar, high-pitched +voice. And Pete knew that the speech was intended for his ear. + +"Nope. Four!" said Malvey positively. + +Pete leaned his elbow on the bar and watched them. Malvey was +obviously acting his part, but The Spider's attitude seemed sincere. +"Pete," he called, "Malvey says there are four riders drifting in from +the north. I make it three." + +"You're both wrong and you got about three hours to find it out in," +said Pete. + +Malvey and The Spider glanced at one another. Evidently Pete was more +shrewd than they had suspected. And evidently he would be followed to +Showdown. + +"It's a killing," whispered The Spider. "I thought that it was. How +do you size him up?" + +"Pretty smooth--for a kid," said Malvey. + +"Worth a blanket?" queried The Spider, which meant, worth hiding from +the law until such time as| a blanket was not necessary. + +"I'd say so." + +They turned and entered the saloon. The Spider crept from the middle +of his web and made plain his immediate desire. "Strangers are welcome +in Showdown, riding single," he told Pete. "We aren't hooked up to +entertain a crowd. If you got friends coming--friends that are +suffering to see you--why, you ain't here when they come. _And you +ain't been here_. If nobody is following your smoke, why, take your +time." + +"I'll be takin' my hoss when he gits done feedin'," stated Pete. + +The Spider nodded approval. Showdown had troubles of its own. + +"Malvey, did you say you were riding south?" + +"Uh-huh." + +"Kind of funny--but I was headin' south myself," said Pete. "Bein' a +stranger I might git lost alone." + +"Which wouldn't scare you none," guffawed, Malvey. + +"Which wouldn't scare me none," said Pete. + +"But a crowd of friends--riding in sudden--" suggested The Spider. + +"I 'd be plumb scared to death," said Pete. + +"I got your number," asserted The Spider. + +"Then hang her on the rack. But hang her on the right hook." + +"One, two, or three?" queried The Spider. + +"Make it three," said Pete. + +The Spider glanced sharply at Pete, who met his eye with a gaze in +which there was both a challenge and a confession. Yet there was no +boastful pride in the confession. It was as though Pete had stated the +simple fact that he had killed a man in self-defense--perhaps more than +one man--and had earned the hatred of those who had the power to make +him pay with his life, whether he were actually guilty or not. + +If this young stranger had three notches in his gun, and thus far had +managed to evade the law, there was a possibility of his becoming a +satellite among The Spider's henchmen. Not that The Spider cared in +the least what became of Pete, save that if he gave promise of becoming +useful, it would be worth while helping him to evade his pursuers this +once at least. He knew that if he once earned Pete's gratitude, he +would have one stanch friend. Moreover, The Spider was exceedingly +crafty, always avoiding trouble when possible to do so. So he set +about weaving the blanket that was to hide Pete from any one who might +become too solicitous about his welfare and so disturb the present +peace of Showdown. + +The Spider's plan was simple, and his instructions to Malvey brief. +While Pete saddled his horse, The Spider talked with Malvey. "Take him +south--to Flores's rancho. Tell Flores he is a friend of mine. When +you get a chance, take his horse, and fan it over to Blake's. Leave +the horse there. I want you to set him afoot at Flores's. When I'm +ready, I'll send for him." + +"What do I git out of it?" + +"Why, the horse. Blake'll give you a hundred for that cayuse, if I am +any judge of a good animal." + +"He'll give me fifty, mebby. Blake ain't payin' too much for any +hosses that I fetch in." + +"Then I'll give you the other fifty and settle with Blake later." + +"That goes, Spider." + +The Spider and Malvey stepped out as Pete had it out with Blue Smoke in +front of the saloon. + +"We're ridin'," said Malvey, as Pete spurred his pony to the rail. + +Pete leaned forward and offered his hand to The Spider. "I'll make +this right with you," said Pete. + +"Forget it," said The Spider. + +Showdown dozed in the desert heat. The street was deserted. The +Mexican who helped about the saloon was asleep in the patio. The +Spider opened a new pack of cards, shuffled them, and began a game of +solitaire. Occasionally he glanced out into the glare, blinking and +muttering to himself. Malvey and Pete had been gone about an hour when +a lean dog that had lain across from the hitching-rail, rose, shook +himself, and turned to gaze up the street. The Spider called to the +man in the patio. He came quickly. "I'm expecting visitors," said The +Spider in Mexican. The other started toward the front doorway, but The +Spider called him back with a word, and gestured to the door back of +the bar--the doorway to The Spider's private room. The Mexican entered +the room and closed the door softly, drew up a chair, and sat close to +the door in the attitude of one who listens. Presently he heard the +patter of hoofs, the grunt of horses pulled up sharply, and the tread +of men entering the saloon. The Mexican drew his gun and rested his +forearm across his knees, the gun hanging easily in his half-closed +hand. He did not know who the men were nor how The Spider had known +that they were coming. But he knew what was expected of him in case of +trouble. The Spider sat directly across from the door behind the bar. +Any one talking with him would be between him and the door. + +"Guess we'll have a drink--and talk later," said Houck. The Spider +glanced up from his card-game, and nodded casually. + +The sound of shuffling feet, and the Mexican knew that the strangers +were facing the bar. He softly holstered his gun. While he could not +understand English, he knew by the tone of the conversation that these +men were not the enemies of his weazened master. + + +"Seen anything of a kind of dark-complected young fella wearin' a black +Stetson and ridin' a blue roan?" queried Houck. + +"Where was he from?" countered The Spider. + +"The Concho, and ridin' a hoss with the Concho brand." + +"Wanted bad?" + +"Yes--a whole lot. He shot Steve Gary yesterday." + +"Gary of the T-Bar-T?" + +"The same--and a friend of mine," interpolated the cowboy Simpson. + +"Huh! You say he's young--just a kid?" + +"Yes. But a dam' tough kid." + +"Pete Annersley, eh? Not the Young Pete that was mixed up in that raid +a few years ago?" + +"The same." + +"No--I didn't see anything of him," said The Spider. + +"We trailed him down this way." + +The Spider nodded. + +"And we mean to keep right on ridin'--till we find him," blurted +Simpson. + +Houck realized that The Spider knew more than he cared to tell. +Simpson had blundered in stating their future plans, Houck tried to +cover the blunder. "We like to get some chuck--enough to carry us back +to the ranch." + +"I'm short on chuck," said The Spider. "If you men were +deputies--sworn in regular--why, I'd have to give it to you." + +Simpson was inclined to argue, but Houck stopped him. + +"Guess we can make it all right," he said easily. "Come on, boys!" + +Houck, wiser than his companions, realized the uselessness of searching +farther, a fact obvious even to the hot-headed Simpson when at the edge +of the town they tried to buy provisions from a Mexican and were met +with a shrug and a reiterated "No sabe." + +"And that just about settles it," said Houck as he reined his pony +round and faced north. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +BULL MALVEY + +Malvey, when not operating a machine gun for Mexican bandits, was +usually busy evading a posse on the American side of the border. +Needless to say, he knew the country well--and the country knew him +only too well. He had friends--of a kind--and he had enemies of every +description and color from the swart, black-eyed Cholas of Sonora to +the ruddy, blue-eyed Rangers of Texas. He trusted no man--and no man +who knew him trusted him--not even The Spider, though he could have +sent Malvey to the penitentiary on any one of several counts. + +Malvey had no subtlety. He simply knew the game and possessed a +tremendous amount of nerve. Like most red-headed men, he rode +rough-shod and aggressively to his goal. He "bulled" his way through, +when more capable men of equal nerve failed. + +Riding beside him across the southern desert, Young Pete could not help +noticing Malvey's hands--huge-knuckled and freckled--and Pete surmised +correctly that this man was not quick with a gun. Pete also noticed +that Malvey "roughed" his horse unnecessarily; that he was a good +rider, but a poor horseman. Pete wondered that desert life had not +taught Malvey to take better care of his horse. + +As yet Pete knew nothing of their destination--nor did he care. It was +good to be out in the open, again with a good horse under him. The +atmosphere of The Spider's saloon had been too tense for comfort. Pete +simply wanted to vacate Showdown until such time as he might return +safely. He had no plan--but he did believe that Showdown would know +him again. He could not say why. And it was significant of Young +Pete's descent to the lower plane that he should consider Showdown safe +at any time. + +Pete was in reality never more unsafe than at the present time. While +space and a swift pony between his knees argued of bodily freedom, he +felt uneasy. Perhaps because of Malvey's occasional covert glance at +Blue Smoke--for Pete saw much that he did not appear to see. Pete +became cautious forthwith, studying the lay of the land. It was a bad +country to travel, being so alike in its general aspect of butte and +arroyo, sand and cacti, that there was little to lay hold upon as a +landmark. A faint line of hills edged the far southern horizon and +there were distant hills to the east and west. They journeyed across +an immense basin, sun-smitten, desolate, unpromising. + +"Just plain hell," said Malvey as though reading Pete's thought. + +"You act like you was to home all right," laughed Pete. + +Malvey glanced quickly at his companion, alive to an implied insult, +but he saw only a young, smooth-cheeked rider in whose dark eyes shone +neither animosity nor friendliness. They jogged on, neither speaking +for many miles. When Malvey did speak, his manner was the least bit +patronizing. He could not quite understand Pete, yet The Spider had +seemed to understand him. As Pete had said nothing about the trouble +that had driven him to the desert, Malvey considered silence on that +subject emanated from a lack of trust. He wanted to gain Pete's +confidence--for the time being at least. It would make it that much +easier to follow The Spider's instructions in regard to Pete's horse. +But to all Malvey's hints Pete was either silent or jestingly +unresponsive. As the journey thinned the possibilities of Pete's +capture, it became monotonous, even to Malvey, who set about planning +how he could steal Pete's horse with the least risk to himself. Aside +from The Spider's instructions Malvey coveted the pony--a far better +horse than his own--and he was of two minds as to whether he should not +keep the pony for his own use. The Concho was a long cry from +Showdown--while the horse Malvey rode had been stolen from a more +immediate neighborhood. As for setting this young stranger afoot in +the desert, that did not bother Malvey in the least. No posse would +ride farther south than Showdown, and with Pete afoot at Flores's +rancho, Malvey would be free to follow his own will, either to Blake's +ranch or farther south and across the border. Whether Pete returned to +Showdown or not was none of Malvey's affair. To get away with the +horse might require some scheming. Malvey made no further attempt to +draw Pete out--but rode on in silence. + +They came upon the canon suddenly, so suddenly that Pete's horse shied +and circled. Malvey, leading, put his own pony down a steep and +winding trail. Pete followed, fixing his eyes on a far green spot at +the bottom of the canon, and the thin thread of smoke above the trees +that told of a habitation. + +At a bend in the trail, Malvey turned in the saddle: "We'll bush down +here. Friends of mine." + +Pete nodded. + +They watered their horses at the thin trickle of water in the canon-bed +and then rode slowly past a weirdly fenced field. Presently they came +to a rude adobe stable and scrub-cedar corral. A few yards beyond, and +hidden by the bushes, was the house. A pock-marked Mexican greeted +Malvey gruffly. The Spider's name was mentioned, and Pete was +introduced as his friend. The horses were corralled and fed. + +As Pete entered the adobe, a thin, listless Mexican woman--Flores's +wife--called to some one in an inner room. Presently Flores's daughter +appeared, supple of movement and smiling. She greeted Malvey as though +he were an old friend, cast down her eyes at Pete's direct gaze, and +straightway disappeared again. From the inner room came the sound of a +song. The young stranger with Malvey was good-looking--quite worth +changing her dress for. She hoped he would think her pretty. Most men +admired her--she was really beautiful in her dark, Southern way--and +some of them had given her presents--a cheap ring, a handkerchief from +Old Mexico, a pink and, to her, wonderful brush and comb. Boca +Dulzura--or "pretty mouth" of the Flores rancho--cared for no man, but +she liked men, especially when they gave her presents. + +When she came from her room, Malvey laughingly accused her of "fixing +up" because of Pete, as he teased her about her gay rebosa and her +crimson sash. She affected scorn for his talk--but was naturally +pleased. And the young stranger was staring at her, which pleased her +still more. + +"This here hombre is Pete," said Malvey. "He left his other name to +home." And he laughed raucously. + +Pete bowed, taking the introduction quite seriously. + +Boca was piqued. This young caballero did not seem anxious to know +her--like the other men. He did not smile. + +"Pete," she lisped, with a tinge of mockery in her voice. "Pete has +not learned to talk yet--he is so young?" + +Malvey slapped his thigh and guffawed. Pete stood solemnly eying him +for a moment. Then he turned to the girl. "I ain't used to talkin' to +women--'specially pretty ones--like you." + +Boca clapped her hands. "There! 'Bool' Malvey has never said anything +so clever as that." + +"Bool" Malvey frowned. But he was hungry, and Flores's wife was +preparing supper. Despite Boca's pretty mouth and fine dark eyes, +which invited to conversation, Pete felt very much alone--very much of +a stranger in this out-of-the-way household. He thought of his chum +Andy White, and of Ma Bailey and Jim, and the boys of the Concho. He +wondered what they were doing--if they were talking about him--and +Gary. It seemed a long time since he had thrown his hat in the corner +and pulled up his chair to the Concho table. He wished that he might +talk with some one--he was thinking of Jim Bailey--and tell him just +what there had been to the shooting. But with these folks . . . + +The shadows were lengthening. Already the lamp on Flores's table was +lighted, there in the kitchen where Malvey was drinking wine with the +old Mexican. Pete had forgotten Boca--almost forgotten where he was +for the moment, when something touched his arm. He turned a startled +face to the girl. She smiled and then whispered quickly, "It is that I +hate that 'Bool' Malvey. He is bad. Of what are you thinking, senor?" + +Pete blinked and hesitated. "Of my folks--back there," he said. + +Boca darted from him as her mother called her to help set the table. +Pete's lips were drawn in a queer line. He had no folks "back +there"--or anywhere. "It was her eyes made me feel that way," he +thought. And, "Doggone it--I'm livin'--anyhow." + +From the general conversation at the table that evening Pete gathered +that queer visitors came to this place frequently. It was a kind of +isolated, halfway house between the border and Showdown. He heard the +name of "Scar-Face," "White-Eye," "Sonora Jim," "Tio Verdugo," a rare +assortment of border vagabonds known by name to the cowboys of the high +country. The Spider was frequently mentioned. It was evident that he +had some peculiar influence over the Flores household, from the +respectful manner in which his name was received by the whole family. +And Pete, unfamiliar with the goings and comings of those men, their +quarrels, friendships, and sinister escapades, ate and listened in +silence, realizing that he too had earned a tentative place among them. +He found himself listening with keen interest to Malvey's account of a +machine-gun duel between two white men,--renegades and leaders in +opposing factions below the border,--and how one of them, shot through +and through, stuck to his gun until he had swept the plaza of enemy +sharp-shooters and had then crawled on hands and knees to the other +machine gun, killed its wounded operator with a six-shooter, and turned +the machine gun on his fleeing foes, shooting until the Mexicans of his +own company had taken courage enough to return and rescue him. "And +he's in El Paso now," concluded Malvey, "at the hospital. He writ to +The Spider for money--and The Spider sure sent it to him." + +"Who was he fightin' for?" queried Pete, interested in spite of himself. + +"Fightin' for? For hisself! Because he likes the game. You don't +want to git the idea that any white man is down there fightin' just to +help a lot of dirty Greasers--on either side of the scrap." + +A quick and significant glance shot from Boca's eyes to her mother's. +Old Flores ate stolidly. If he had heard he showed no evidence of it. + +"'Bull' Malvey! A darn good name for him," thought Pete. And he felt +a strange sense of shame at being in his company. He wondered if +Flores were afraid of Malvey or simply indifferent to his raw talk. +And Pete--who had never gone out of his way to make a friend--decided +to be as careful of what he said as Malvey was careless. Pete had +never lacked nerve, but he was endowed with considerable caution--a +fact that The Spider had realized and so had considered him worth the +trouble of hiding--as an experiment. + +After supper the men sat out beneath the vine-covered portal--Malvey +and Flores with a wicker-covered demijohn of wine between them--and +Pete lounging on the doorstep, smoking and gazing across the canon at +the faint stars of an early evening. With the wine, old Flores's +manner changed from surly indifference to a superficial politeness +which in no way deceived Pete. And Malvey, whose intent was plainly to +get drunk, boasted of his doings on either side of the line. He hinted +that he had put more than one Mexican out of the way--and he slapped +Flores on the back--and Flores laughed. He spoke of raids on the +horse-herds of white men, and through some queer perversity inspired in +his drink, openly asserted that he was the "slickest hoss-thief in +Arizona," turning to Pete as he spoke. + +"I'll take your word for it," said Pete. + +"But what's the use of settin' out here like a couple of dam' buzzards +when the ladies are waitin' for us in there?" queried Malvey, and be +leered at Flores. + +The old Mexican grunted and rose stiffly. They entered the 'dobe, +Malvey insisting that Pete come in and hear Boca sing. + +"I can listen out here." Pete was beginning to hate Malvey, with the +cold, deliberate hatred born of instinct. As for old Flores, Pete +despised him heartily. A man that could hear his countrymen called "a +dirty bunch of Greasers," and have nothing to say, was a pretty poor +sort of a man. + +Disgusted with Malvey's loud talk and his raw attitude toward Boca, +Pete sat in the moon-flung shadows of the portal and smoked and gazed +at the stars. He was half-asleep when he heard Boca tell Malvey that +he was a pig and the son of a pig. Malvey laughed. There came the +sound of a scuffle. Pete glanced over his shoulder. Malvey had his +arm around the girl and was trying to kiss her. Flores was watching +them, grinning in a kind of drunken indifference. + +Pete hesitated. He was there on sufferance--a stranger. After all, +this was none of his business. Boca's father and mother were also +there . . . + +Boca screamed. Malvey let go of her and swung round as Pete stepped +up. "What's the idee, Malvey?" + +"You don't draw no cards in this deal," snarled Malvey. + +"Then we shuffle and cut for a new deal," said Pete. + +Malvey's loose mouth hardened as he backed toward the corner of the +room, where Boca cringed, her hands covering her face. Suddenly the +girl sprang up and caught Malvey's arm, "No! No!" she cried. + +He flung her aside and reached for his gun--but Pete was too quick for +him. They crashed down and rolled across the room. Pete wriggled free +and rose. In a flash he realized that he was no match for Malvey's +brute strength. He had no desire to kill Malvey--but he did not intend +that Malvey should kill him. Pete jerked his gun loose as Malvey +staggered to his feet, but Pete dared not shoot on account of Boca. He +saw Malvey's hand touch the butt of his gun--when something crashed +down from behind. Pete dimly remembered Boca's white face--and the +room went black. + +Malvey strode forward. + +Old Flores dropped the neck of the shattered bottle and stood gazing +down at Pete. "The good wine is gone. I break the bottle," said +Flores, grinning. + +"To hell with the wine! Let's pack this young tin-horn out where he +won't be in the way." + +But as Malvey stooped, Boca flung herself in front of him. "Pig!" she +flamed. She turned furiously on her father, whose vacuous grin faded +as she cursed him shrilly for a coward. + +Listless and heavy-eyed came Boca's mother. Without the slightest +trace of emotion she examined Pete's wound, fetched water and washed +it, binding it up with a handkerchief. Quite as listlessly she spoke +to her husband, telling him to leave the wine and go to bed. + +Flores mumbled a protest. Malvey asked him if he let the women run the +place. Boca's mother turned to Malvey. "You will go," she said +quietly. Malvey cursed as he stepped from the room. He could face +Boca's fury, or face any man in a quarrel, but there was something in +the deathlike quietness of the sad-eyed Mexican woman that chilled his +blood. He did not know what would happen if he refused to go--yet he +knew that something would happen. It was not the first time that +Flores's wife had interfered in quarrels of the border outlaws +sojourning at the ranch. In Showdown men said that she would as soon +knife a man as not. Malvey, who had lived much in Old Mexico, had seen +women use the knife. + +He went without a word. Boca heard him speak sharply to his horse, as +she and her mother lifted Pete and carried him to the bedroom. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +BOCA DULZURA + +Just before dawn Pete became conscious that some one was sitting near +him and occasionally bathing his head with cool water. He tried to sit +up. A slender hand pushed him gently back. "It is good that you +rest," said a voice. The room was dark--he could not see--but he knew +that Boca was there and he felt uncomfortable. He was not accustomed +to being waited upon, especially by a woman. + +"Where's Malvey?" he asked. + +"I do not know. He is gone." + +Again Pete tried to sit up, but sank back as a shower of fiery dots +whirled before his eyes. He realized that he had been hit pretty +hard--that he could do nothing but keep still just then. The hot pain +subsided as the wet cloth again touched his forehead and he drifted to +sleep. When he awakened at midday he was alone. + +He rose, and steadying himself along the wall, finally reached the +doorway. Old Flores was working in the distant garden-patch. Beyond +him, Boca and her mother were pulling beans. Pete stepped out dizzily +and glanced toward the corral. His horse was not there. + +Pete was a bit hasty in concluding that the squalid drama of the +previous evening (the cringing girl, the drunkenly indifferent father, +and the malevolent Malvey) had been staged entirely for his benefit. +The fact was that Malvey had been only too sincere in his boorishness +toward Boca; Flores equally sincere in his indifference, and Boca +herself actually frightened by the turn Malvey's drink had taken. That +old Flores had knocked Pete out with a bottle was the one and +extravagant act that even Malvey himself could hardly have anticipated +had the whole miserable affair been prearranged. In his drunken +stupidity Flores blindly imagined that the young stranger was the cause +of the quarrel. + +Pete, however, saw in it a frame-up to knock him out and make away with +his horse. And back of it all he saw The Spider's craftily flung web +that held him prisoner, afoot and among strangers. "They worked it +slick," he muttered. + +Boca happened to glance up. Pete was standing bareheaded in the noon +sunlight. With an exclamation Boca rose and hastened to him. Young +Pete's eyes were sullen as she begged him to seek the shade of the +portal. + +"Where's my horse?" he challenged, ignoring her solicitude. + +She shook her head. "I do not know. Malvey is gone." + +"That's a cinch! You sure worked it slick." + +"I do not understand." + +"Well, I do." + +Pete studied her face. Despite his natural distrust, he realized that +the girl was innocent of plotting against him. He decided to confide +in her--even play the lover if necessary--and he hated pretense--to win +her sympathy and help; for he knew that if he ever needed a friend it +was now. + +Boca steadied him to the bench just outside the doorway, and fetched +water. He drank and felt better. Then she carefully unrolled the +bandage, washed the clotted blood from the wound and bound it up again. + +"It is bad that you come here," she told him. + +"Well, I got one friend, anyhow," said Pete. + +"Si, I am your friend," she murmured. + +"I ain't what you'd call hungry--but I reckon some coffee would kind of +stop my head from swimmin' round," suggested Pete. + +"Si, I will get it." + +Pete wondered how far he could trust the girl--whether she would really +help him or whether her kindness were such as any human being would +extend to one injured or in distress--"same as a dog with his leg +broke," thought Pete. But after he drank the coffee he ceased worrying +about the future and decided to take things an they came and make the +best of them. + +"Perhaps it is that you have killed a man?" ventured Boca, curious to +know why he was there. + +Pete hesitated, as he eyed her sharply. There seemed to be no motive +behind her question other than simple curiosity. "I've put better men +than Malvey out of business," he asserted. + +Boca eyed him with a new interest. She had thought that perhaps this +young senor had but stolen a horse or two--a most natural inference in +view of his recent associate. So this young vaquero was a boy in years +only?--and outlawed! No doubt there was a reward for his capture. +Boca had lightly fancied Young Pete the evening before; but now she +felt a much deeper interest. She quickly cautioned him to say nothing +to her father about the real reason for his being there. Rather Pete +was to say, if questioned, that he had stolen a horse about which +Malvey and he had quarreled. + +Pete scowled. "I'm no low-down hoss-thief!" he flared. + +Boca smiled. "Now it is that I know you have killed a man!" + +Pete was surprised that the idea seemed to please her. + +"But my father"--she continued--"he would sell you--for money. So it +is that you will say that you have stolen a horse." + +"I reckon he would,"--and Pete gently felt the back of his head. "So +I'll tell him like you say. I'm dependin' a whole lot on you--to git +me out of this," he added. + +"You will rest," she told him, and turned to go back to her work. "I +am your friend," she whispered, pausing with her finger to her lips. + +Pete understood and nodded. + +So far he had done pretty well, he argued. Later, when he felt able to +ride, he would ask Boca to find a horse for him. He knew that there +must be saddle-stock somewhere in the canon. Men like Flores always +kept several good horses handy for an emergency. Meanwhile Pete +determined to rest and gain strength, even while he pretended that he +was unfit to ride. When he _did_ leave, he would leave in a hurry and +before old Flores could play him another trick. + +For a while Pete watched the three figures puttering about the +bean-patch. Presently he got up and stepped into the house, drank some +coffee, and came out again. He sat down on the bench and took mental +stock of his own belongings. He had a few dollars in silver, his +erratic watch, and his gun. Suddenly he bethought him of his saddle. +The sun made his head swim as he stepped out toward the corral. Yes, +his saddle and bridle hung on the corral bars, just where he had left +them. He was about to return to the shade of the portal when he +noticed the tracks of unshod horses in the dust. So old Flores had +other horses in the canon? Well, in a day or so Pete would show the +Mexican a trick with a large round hole in it--the hole representing +the space recently occupied by one of his ponies. Incidentally Pete +realized that he was getting deeper and deeper into the meshes of The +Spider's web--and the thought spurred him to a keener vigilance. So +far he had killed three men actually in self-defense. But when he met +up with Malvey--and Pete promised himself that pleasure--he would not +wait for Malvey to open the argument. "Got to kill to live," he told +himself. "Well, I got the name--and I might as well have the game. +It's nobody's funeral but mine, anyhow." He felt, mistakenly, that his +friends had all gone back on him--a condition of mind occasioned by his +misfortunes rather than by any logical thought, for at that very moment +Jim Bailey was searching high and low for Pete in order to tell him +that Gary was not dead--but had been taken to the railroad hospital at +Enright, operated on, and now lay, minus the fragments of three or four +ribs, as malevolent as ever, and slowly recovering from a wound that +had at first been considered fatal. + +Young Pete was not to know of this until long after the knowledge could +have had any value in shaping his career. Bailey, with two of his men, +traced Pete as far as Showdown, where the trail went blind, ending with +The Spider's apparently sincere assertion that he knew nothing whatever +of Peters whereabouts. + +Paradoxically, those very qualities which won him friends now kept Pete +from those friends. The last place toward which he would have chosen +to ride would have been the Concho--and the last man he would have +asked for help would have been Jim Bailey. Pete felt that he was doing +pretty well at creating trouble for himself without entangling his best +friends. + +"Got to kill to live," he reiterated. + +"Como 'sta, senor?" Old Flores had just stepped from behind the +crumbling 'dobe wall of the stable. + +"Well, it ain't your fault I ain't a-furnishin' a argument for the +coyotes." + +"The senor would insult Boca. He was drunk," said Flores. + +"Hold on there! Don't you go cantelopin' off with any little ole idea +like that sewed up in your hat. _Which_ senor was drunk?" + +Flores shrugged his shoulders. "Who may say?" he half-whined. + +"Well, I can, for one," asserted Pete. "_You_ was drunk and _Malvey_ +was drunk, and the two of you dam' near fixed me. But that don't +count--now. Where's my hoss?" + +"Quien sabe?" + +"You make me sick," said Pete in English. Flores caught the word +"sick" and thought Pete was complaining of his physical condition. + +"The senor is welcome to rest and get well. What is done is done, and +cannot be mended. But when the senor would ride, I can find a horse--a +good horse and not a very great price." + +"I'm willin' to pay," said Pete, who thought that he had already pretty +well paid for anything he might need. + +"And a good saddle," continued Flores. + +"I'm usin' my own rig," stated Pete. + +"It is the saddle, there, that I would sell to the senor." The old +Mexican gestured toward Pete's own saddle. + +Pete was about to retort hastily when he reconsidered. The only way to +meet trickery was with trickery. "All right," he said indifferently. +"You'll sure get all that is comin' to you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +"A DRESS--OR A RING, PERHAPS" + +All that day Pete lay in the shade of the 'dobe feigning indifference +to Boca as she brought him water and food, until even she was deceived +by his listlessness, fearing that he had been seriously injured. Not +until evening did he show any sign of interest in her presence. With +the shadows it grew cooler. Old Flores sat in the doorway smoking. +His wife sat beside him, gazing at the far rim of the evening canon. +Presently she rose and stepped round to where Pete and Boca were +talking. "You will go," said Boca's mother abruptly. "Boca shall find +a horse for you." + +Pete, taken by surprise,--Boca's mother had spoken just when Pete had +asked Boca where her father kept the horses,--stammered an +acknowledgment of her presence; but the Mexican woman did not seem to +hear him. "To-night," she continued, "Boca will find a horse. It is +good that you go--but not that you go to Showdown." + +"I sure want to thank you both. But, honest, I wouldn't know where +else to go but to Showdown. Besides, I got a hunch Malvey was headed +that way." + +"That is as a man speaks," said the senora. "My man was like that +once--but now--" + +"I'm broke--no dineros," said Pete. + +"It is my horse that he shall have--" Boca began. + +But her mother interrupted quietly. "The young senor will return--and +there are many ways to pay. We are poor. You will not forget us. You +will come again, alone in the night. And it is not Malvey that will +show you the way." + +"Not if I see him first, senora." + +"You jest--but even now you would kill Malvey if he were here." + +"You sure are tellin' Malvey's fortune," laughed Pete. "Kin you tell +mine?" + +"Again you jest--but I will speak. You will not kill Malvey, yet you +shall find your own horse. You will be hunted by men, but you will not +always be as you are now. Some day you will have wealth, and then it +is that you will remember this night. You will come again at night, +and alone--but Boca will not be here. You will grow weary of life from +much suffering, even as I. Then it is that you will think of these +days and many days to come--and these days shall be as wine in your old +age--" Boca's mother paused as though listening. "But like wine--" +and again she paused. + +"Headache?" queried Pete. "Well, I know how that feels, without the +wine. That fortune sounds good to me--all except that about Boca. +Now, mebby you could tell me which way Malvey was headed?" + +"He has ridden to Showdown." + +"So that red-headed hoss-thief fanned it right back to his boss, eh? +He must 'a' thought I was fixed for good." + +"It is his way. Men spake truly when they called him the bull. He is +big--but he is as a child." + +"Well, there's goin' to be one mighty sick child for somebody to nurse, +right soon," stated Pete. + +"I have said that it is bad that you ride to Showdown. But you will go +there--and he whom men call The Spider--he shall be your friend--even +with his life." + +As quietly as she came the Mexican woman departed, leaving Boca and +Pete gazing at each other in the dusk. "She makes me afraid +sometimes," whispered Boca. + +"Sounds like she could jest plumb see what she was talkin' about. Kind +of second-sight, I reckon. Wonder why she didn't put me wise to Malvey +when I lit in here with him? It would 'a' saved a heap of trouble." + +"It is the dream," said Boca. "These things she has seen in a dream." + +"I ain't got nothin' against your ole--your mother, Boca, but by the +way I'm feelin', she's sure due to have a bad one, right soon." + +"You do not believe?" queried Boca quite seriously. + +"Kind of--half. I don't aim to know everything." + +"She said you would come back," and Boca smiled. + +"_That_ dream'll sure come true. I ain't forgettin'. But I ain't +goin' to wait till you're gone." + +Boca touched Pete's hand. "And you will bring me a present. A +dress--or a ring, perhaps?" + +"You kin jest bank on that! I don't aim to travel where they make 'em +reg'lar, but you sure get that present--after I settle with Malvey." + +"That is the way with men," pouted Boca. "They think only of the +quarrel." + +"You got me wrong, senorita. I don't want to kill nobody. The big +idee is to keep from gittin' bumped off myself. Now you'd think a +whole lot of me if I was to ride off and forgit all about what Malvey +done?" + +"I would go with you," said Boca softly. + +"Honest? Well, you'd sure make a good pardner." Pete eyed the girl +with a new interest. Then he shook his head. "I--you'd sure make a +good pardner--but it would be mighty tough for you. I'd do most +anything--but that. You see, Chicita, I'm in bad. I'm like to get +mine most any time. And I ain't no ladies' man--nohow." + +"But you will come back?" queried Boca anxiously. + +"As sure as you're livin'! Only you want to kind o' eddicate your ole +man to handle bottles more easy-like. He ought to know what they're +made for." + +"Your head--it is cool," said Boca, reaching up and touching Pete's +forehead. + +"Oh, I'm feelin' fine, considerin'." + +"Then I am happy," said Boca. + +Pete never knew just how he happened to find Boca's hand in his own. +But he knew that she had a very pretty mouth, and fine eyes; eyes that +glowed softly in the dusk. Before he realized what had happened, Boca +was in his arms, and he was telling her again and again that "he sure +would come back." + +She murmured her happiness as he kissed her awkwardly, and quickly, as +though bidding her a hasty farewell. But she would not let him go with +that. "Mi amor! Mi corazone!" she whispered, as she clasped her hands +behind his head and gently drew his mouth to hers. + +Pete felt embarrassed, but his embarrassment melted in the soft warmth +of her affection and he returned her kisses with all the ardor of +youth. Suddenly she pushed him away and rose. Her mother had called +her. + +"About twelve," whispered Pete. "Tell your ole man I'll bush out here. +It's a heap cooler." + +She nodded and left him. Pete heard Flores speak to her gruffly. + +"Somebody ought to put that ole side-of bacon in the well," +soliloquized Pete. "I could stand for the ole lady, all right, and +Boca sure is a lily . . . but I was forgettin' I got to ride to +Showdown to-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE DEVIL-WIND + +As Pete lay planning his departure--he wondered if Boca would think to +find him a canteen and food for his long ride--the stars, hitherto +clear-edged and brilliant, became blurred as though an almost invisible +mist had drifted between them and the earth. He rubbed his eyes. Yes, +there was no mistake about it. He was wide awake, and the sky was +changing. That which had seemed a mist now appeared more like a fine +dust, that swept across the heavens and dimmed the desert sky. It +occurred to him that he was at the bottom of a fairly deep canon and +that that impalpable dust meant wind, A little later he heard it,--at +first a faint, far-away sound like the whisper of many voices; then a +soft, steady hiss as when wind-driven sand runs over sand. A hot wind +sprang up suddenly and swept with a rush down the night-walled canon. +It was the devil-wind of the desert, the wind that curls the leaf and +shrivels the vine, even in the hours when there is no sun. When the +devil-wind drives, men lie naked beneath the sky in sleepless misery. +Horses and cattle stand with heads lowered and flanks drawn in, +suffering an invisible torture from which there is no escape. The dawn +brings no relief--no freshening of the air. The heat drives on--three +days--say those who know the southern desert--and no man rides the +trails, but seeks what shade may be, and lies torpid and silent--or if +he speaks, it is to curse the land. + +Pete knew that this devil-wind would make old Flores restless. He +stepped round to the doorway and asked for water. From the darkness +within the adobe came Flores's voice and the sound of a match against +wood. The Mexican appeared with a candle. + +"My head feels queer," stated Pete, as an excuse for disturbing Flores. +"I can't find the olla--and I'm dead for a drink." + +"Then we shall drink this," said Flores, fetching a jug of wine from +beneath the bench. + +"Not for mine! I'm dizzy enough, without that." + +"It is the devil-wind. One may get drunk and forget. One may then +sleep. And if one sleeps, it is not so bad." + +Pete shook his head, but tasted the wine that Flores poured for him. +If the old man would only get drunk enough to go to sleep . . . The +Mexican's oily, pock-marked face glistened in the flickering +candle-light. He drank and smacked his lips. "If one is to die of the +heat--one might as well die drunk," he laughed. "Drink, senor!" + +Pete sipped the wine and watched the other as he filled and emptied his +glass again. "It is the good wine," said Flores. The candle-light +cast a huge, distorted shadow of the Mexican's head and shoulders on +the farther wall. The faint drone of the hot wind came to them from +the plains above. The candle-flame fluttered. Flores reached down for +the jug and set it on the table. "All night we shall drink of the good +wine, for no man may sleep.", + +"I'm with you," said Pete. "Only I ain't so swift." + +"No man may sleep," reiterated Flores, again emptying his tumbler. + +"How about the women-folks?" queried Pete. + +Flores waved his hand in a gesture indicative of supreme indifference +to what the "women-folks" did. He noticed that Pete was not drinking +and insisted that he drink and refill his glass. Pete downed the raw +red wine and presently complained of feeling sleepy. Flores grinned. +"I do not sleep," he asserted--"not until this is gone"--and he struck +the jug with his knuckles. Pete felt that he was in for a long +session, and inwardly cursed his luck. Flores's eyes brightened and he +grew talkative. He spoke of his youth in Old Mexico; of the cattle and +the women of that land. Pete feigned a heaviness that he did not feel. +Presently Flores's talk grew disconnected; his eye became dull and his +swarthy face was mottled with yellow. The sweat, which had rolled down +his cheeks and dripped from his nose, now seemed to coagulate in tiny, +oily globules. He put down a half-empty tumbler and stared at Pete. +"No man sleeps," he mumbled, as his lids drooped. Slowly his chin sank +to his chest and he slumped forward against the table. Pete started to +get up. Flores raised his head. "Drink--senor!" he murmured, and +slumped forward, knocking the tumbler over. A dark red line streaked +the table and dripped to the floor. + +Something moved in the kitchen doorway. Pete glanced up to see Boca +staring at him. He gestured toward her father. She nodded +indifferently and beckoned Pete to follow her. + +"I knew that you would think me a lie if I did not come," she told him, +as they stood near the old corral--Pete's impatience to be gone +evident, as he shouldered his saddle. "But you will not ride tonight. +You would die." + +"It's some hot--but I aim to go through." + +"But no--not to-night! For three days will it be like this! It is +terrible! And you have been ill." + +She pressed close to him and touched his arm. "Have I not been your +friend?" + +"You sure have! But honest, Boca, I got a hunch that it's time to fan +it. 'T ain't that I'm sore at your old man now--or want to leave +you--but I got a hunch somethin' is goin' to happen." + +"You think only of that Malvey. You do not think of me," complained +Boca. + +"I'm sure thinkin' of you every minute. It ain't Malvey that's +botherin' me now." + +"Then why do you not rest--and wait?" + +"Because restin' and waitin' is worse than takin" a chanct. I got to +go." + +"You must go?" + +Pete nodded. + +"But what if I will not find a horse for you?" + +"Then I reckon you been foolin' me right along." + +"That is not so!" Boca's hand dropped to her side and she turned from +him. + +"'Course it ain't! And say, Boca, I'll make it through all right. All +I want is a good hoss--and a canteen and some grub." + +"I have made ready the food and have a canteen for you--in my room." + +"Then let's go hunt up that cayuse." + +"It is that you will die--" she began; but Pete, irritated by argument +and the burning wind that droned through the canon, put an end to it +all by dropping the saddle and taking her swiftly in his arms. He +kissed her--rather perfunctorily. "My little pardner!" he whispered. + +Boca, although sixteen and mature in a sense, was in reality little +more than a child. When Pete chose to assert himself, he had much the +stronger will. She felt that all pleading would be useless. "You have +the reata?" she queried, and turning led him past the corral and along +the fence until they came to the stream. A few hundred yards down the +stream she turned, and cautioning him to follow closely, entered a sort +of lateral canon--a veritable box at whose farther end was Flores's +cache of horses, kept in this hidden pasture for any immediate need. +Pete heard the quick trampling of hoofs and the snort of startled +horses. + +"We will drive them on into the corral," said Boca. + +Pete could see but dimly, but he sensed the situation at once. The +canon was a box, narrowing to a natural enclosure with the open end +fenced. He had seen such places--called "traps" by men who made a +business of catching wild horses. + +Several dim shapes bunched in the small enclosure, plunging and +circling as Pete found and closed the bars. + +"The yellow horse is of the desert--and very strong," said Boca. + +"They all look alike to me," laughed Pete. "It's mighty dark, right +now." He slipped through the bars and shook out his rope. The horses +crowded away from him as he followed. A shape reared and backed. Pete +flipped the noose and set his heels as the rope snapped taut. He held +barely enough slack to make the snubbing-post, but finally took a turn +round it and fought the horse up. "Blamed if he ain't the buckskin," +panted Pete. + +The sweat dripped from his face as he bridled and saddled the half-wild +animal. It was doubly hard work in the dark. Then he came to the +corral bars where Boca stood. "I'm all hooked up, Boca." + +"Then I shall go back for the cantina and the food." + +"I'll go right along with you. I'll wait at the other corral." + +Pete followed her and sat a nervous horse until she reappeared, with +the canteen and package of food. The hot wind purred and whispered +round them. Above, the stars struggled dimly through the haze. Pete +reached down and took her hand. She had barely touched his fingers +when the horse shied and reared. + +"If Malvey he kill you--I shall kill him!" she whispered fiercely. + +"I'm comin' back," said Pete. + +A shadow flung across the night; and Boca. was standing gazing into +the black wall through which the shadow had plunged. Far up the trail +she could hear quick hoofbeats, and presently above the drone of the +wind came a faint musical "Adios! Adios!" + +She dared not call back to him for fear of waking her father, in spite +of the fact that she knew he was drugged beyond all feeling and sound. +And she had her own good reason for caution. When Flores discovered +his best horse gone, there would be no evidence that would entangle her +or her mother in wordy argument with him for having helped the young +vaquero to leave--and against the direct commands of The Spider, who +had sent word to Flores through Malvey that Pete was to remain at the +rancho till sent for. + + +At the top of the canon trail Pete reined in and tried to get his +bearings. But the horse, fighting the bit, seemed to have a clear idea +of going somewhere and in the general direction of Showdown. "You +ought to know the trail to Showdown," said Pete. "And you ain't tryin' +to git back home, so go to it! I'll be right with you." + +The heavy, hot wind seethed round him and he bent his head, tying his +bandanna across his nose and mouth. The buckskin bored into the night, +his unshod hoofs pattering softly on the desert trail. His first "fine +frenzy" done, he settled to a swinging trot that ate into the miles +ceaselessly. Twice during the ride Pete raised the canteen and +moistened his burning throat. Slowly he grew numb to the heat and the +bite of the whipping sand, and rode as one in a horrible dream. He had +been a fool to ride from comparative safety into this blind furnace of +burning wind. Why had he done so? And again and again he asked +himself this question, wondering if he were going mad. It had been +years and years since he had left the Flores rancho. There was a girl +there--Boca Dulzura--or had he dreamed of such a girl? Pete felt the +back of his head. "No, it wa'n't a dream," he told himself. + + +A ghastly dawn burned into Showdown, baring the town's ugliness as it +crept from 'dobe to 'dobe as though in search of some living thing to +torture with slow fire. The street was a wind-swept emptiness, smooth +with fine sand. Pete rode to the hitching-rail. The Spider's place +was dumb to his knocking. He staggered round to the western side of +the saloon and squatted on his heels. "Water that pony after a while," +he muttered. Strange flashes of light danced before his eyes. His +head pained dully and he ached all over for lack of sleep. A sudden +trampling brought him to his feet. He turned the corner of the saloon +just in time to see the buckskin lunge back. The reins snapped like a +thread. The pony shook its head and trotted away, circling. Pete +followed, hoping that the tangle of dragging rein might stop him. + +Half-dazed, Pete followed doggedly, but the horse started to run. Pete +staggered back to the hitching-rail, untied the end of the broken rein +and tossed it across the street. He did not know why he did this; he +simply did it mechanically. + +He was again afoot, weak and exhausted from his night's ride. "I +reckon that ole Mexican woman--was right," he muttered. "But I got one +pardner yet, anyhow," and his hand slid to his holster. "You and me +ag'in' the whole dam' town! God, it's hot." + +He slumped to the corner of the saloon and squatted, leaning against +the wall. He thought of Boca. He could hear her speak his name +distinctly. A shadow drifted across his blurred vision. He glanced +up. The Spider, naked to the waist, stood looking down at him, leanly +grotesque in the dawn light. + +"You 're going strong!" said The Spider. + +"I want Malvey," whispered Pete. + +The Spider's lips twitched. "You'll get some coffee and beans first. +Any man that's got enough sand to foot it from Flores here--can camp on +me _any_ time--coming or going." + + +"I'm workin' this case myself," stated Pete sullenly. + +"You play your own hand," said The Spider. And for once he meant it. +He could scarcely believe that Young Pete had made it across the desert +on foot--yet there was no horse in sight. If Young Pete could force +himself to such a pace and survive he would become a mighty useful tool. + +"Did Malvey play you?" queried The Spider. + +"You ought to know." + +"He said you were sick--down at Flores's rancho." + +"Then he's here!" And Pete's dulling eyes brightened. "Well, I ain't +as sick as he's goin' to be, Spider." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +"A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR" + +Pete was surprised to find the darkened saloon cooler than the open +desert, even at dawn; and he realized, after glancing about, that The +Spider had closed the doors and windows during the night to shut out +the heat. + +"In here," said The Spider, opening the door back of the bar. + +Pete followed, groping his way into The Spider's room. He started back +as a match flared. The Spider lighted a lamp. In the sudden soft glow +Pete beheld a veritable storehouse of plunder: gorgeous serapes from +Old Mexico--blankets from Tehuantepec and Oaxaca, rebosas of woven silk +and linen and wool, the cruder colorings of the Navajo and Hopi +saddle-blankets, war-bags and buckskin garments heavy with the beadwork +of the Utes and Blackfeet, a buffalo-hide shield, an Apache bow and +quiver of arrows, skins of the mountain lion and lynx, and hanging from +the beam-end a silver-mounted saddle and bridle and above it a Mexican +sombrero heavy with golden filigree. + +"You've rambled some," commented Pete. + +"Some. What's the matter with your head?" + +"Your friend Flores handed me one--from behind," said Pete. + +The Spider gestured toward a blanket-covered couch against the wall. +"Lay down there. No, on your face. Huh! Wait till I get some water." + +Pete closed his eyes. Presently he felt the light touch of fingers and +then a soothing coolness. He heard The Spider moving about the room. +The door closed softly. Pete raised his head. The room was dark. He +thought of Malvey and he wondered at The Spider's apparent solicitude. +He was in The Spider's hands--for good or ill . . . Sleep blotted out +all sense of being. + +Late that afternoon he awoke to realize that there was some one in the +room. He raised on his elbow and turned to see The Spider gazing down +at him with a peculiar expression--as though he were questioning +himself and awaiting an answer from some outside source. + +Pete stretched and yawned and grinned lazily. "Hello, pardner! I was +dreamin' of a friend of mine when I come to and saw"--Pete hesitated, +sat up and yawned again--"another friend that I wa'n't dreamin' about," +he concluded. + +"What makes you think I'm your friend?" queried The Spider. + +"Oh, hell, I dunno," said Pete, rubbing the back of his head and +grinning boyishly. "But there's no law ag'in' my feelin' that way, is +there? Doggone it, I'm plumb empty! Feel like my insides had been +takin' a day off and had come back just pawin' the air to git to work." + +"Malvey's in town." + +Pete's mouth hardened, then relaxed to a grin. + +"Well, if he's as hungry as I am he ain't worryin' about me." + +"He's got your horse." + +"That don't worry me none." + +"I told Malvey to get your horse from you and set you afoot at Flores'." + +"And he sure made a good job of it, didn't he? But I don't sabe your +game in hog-tyin' me down to Flores's place." + +"I figured you'd be safer afoot till you kind of cooled down." + +Pete tried to read The Spider's face, but it was as impersonal as the +desert itself. "Mebby you figured to hold me there till you was good +and ready to use me," said Pete. + +The Spider nodded. + +"Well, there's nothin' doin'. I ain't no killer or no hoss-thief +lookin' for a job. I got in bad up north--but I ain't lookin' for no +more trouble. If Malvey and me lock horns--that's my business. But +you got me wrong if you reckon I'm goin' to throw in with your outfit. +I kin pay for what I eat a couple of times, anyhow. But I ain't hirin' +out to no man." + +"Go back in the patio and Juan will get you some chuck," said The +Spider abruptly. + +"Which I'm payin' for," said Pete. + +"Which you're paying for," said The Spider. + +Following its usual course, the devil-wind died down suddenly at dusk +of the third day. A few Mexicans drifted into the saloon that evening +and following them several white men up from the border. Pete, who sat +in the patio where he could watch the outer doorway of the saloon, +smoked and endeavored to shape a plan for his future. He was vaguely +surprised that a posse had not yet ridden into Showdown; for The Spider +had said nothing of Houck and his men, and Pete was alert to that +contingency, in that he had planned to slip quietly from the patio to +the corral at the back, in case they did ride in, estimating that he +would have time to saddle a horse and get away before they could search +the premises, even if they went that far; and he doubted that they +would risk that much without The Spider's consent. Would The Spider +give such consent? Pete doubted it, not because he trusted The Spider +so much, but rather because the deliberate searching of premises by a +posse would break an established precedent, observed in more than one +desert rendezvous. That simple and eloquent statement, "Go right ahead +and search--but you'll search her in smoke," had backed down more than +one posse, as Pete knew. + +Already the monotony of loafing at The Spider's place had begun to wear +on Pete, who had slept much for two days and nights, and he was itching +to do something. He had thought of riding down and across the border +and had said so to The Spider, who had advised him against it. During +their talk Malvey's name was mentioned. Pete wondered why that +individual had chosen to keep from sight so long, not aware that The +Spider had sent word to Malvey, who was at Mescalero's ranch, a few +miles east of Showdown, that a posse from the Blue had ridden in and +might be somewhere in the vicinity. + +Little by little Pete began to realize that his present as well as his +future welfare depended on caution quite as much as upon sheer courage. +Insidiously The Spider's influence was working upon Pete, who saw in +him a gambler who played for big stakes with a coldness and +soullessness that was amazing--and yet Pete realized that there was +something hidden deep in The Spider's cosmos that was intensely human. +For instance, when Pete had given up the idea of crossing the border +and had expressed, as much by his countenance as his speech, his +imperative need to be out and earning a living, The Spider had offered +to put him to work on his ranch, which he told Pete was of considerable +extent, and lay just north of the national boundary and well out of the +way of chance visitors. "Cattle"--The Spider had said--"and some +horses." + +Pete thought he knew about how that ranch had been stocked, and why it +was located where it was. But then, cattle-stealing was not confined +to any one locality. Any of the boys riding for the Blue or the Concho +or the T-Bar-T were only too eager to brand a stray calf and consider +that they were but serving their employer's interests, knowing that +their strays were quite as apt to be branded by a rival outfit. So it +went among men supposed to be living under the law. + +The Spider's proffer of work was accepted, but Pete asserted that he +would not leave Showdown until he had got his horse. + +"I'll see that you get him," said The Spider. + +"Thanks. But I aim to git him myself." + +And it was shortly after this understanding that Pete sat in the patio +back of the saloon--waiting impatiently for Malvey to show up, and +half-inclined to go out and look for him. But experience had taught +Pete the folly of hot-headed haste, so, like The Spider, he withdrew +into himself, apparently indifferent to the loud talk of the men in the +saloon, the raw jokes and the truculent swaggering, with the +implication, voiced loudly by one half-drunken renegade, that the +stranger was a short-horn and naturally afraid to herd in with "the +bunch." + +"He's got business of his own," said The Spider. + +"That's different. I 'poligish." + +The men laughed, and the bibulous outlaw straightway considered himself +a wit. But those who carried their liquor better knew that The +Spider's interruption was significant. The young stranger was playing +a lone hand, and the rules of the game called for strict attention to +their own business. + +Presently a Mexican strode in and spoke to The Spider. The Spider +called to a man at one of the tables. The noisy talk ceased suddenly. +"One," said The Spider. "From the south." + +Pete heard and he shifted his position a little, approximating the +distance between himself and the outer doorway. Card-games were +resumed as before when a figure filled the doorway. Pete's hand slid +slowly to his hip. His fingers stiffened, then relaxed, as he got to +his feet. + +It was Boca--alone, and smiling in the soft glow of lamplight. The +Spider hobbled from behind the bar. Some one called a laughing +greeting. "It's Boca, boys! We'll sure cut loose to-night! When Boca +comes to town the bars is down!" + +Pete heard--and anger and surprise darkened his face. These men seemed +to know Boca too well. One of them had risen, leaving his card-game, +and was shaking hands with her. Another asked her to sing "La Paloma." +Even The Spider seemed gracious to her. Pete, leaning against the +doorway of the patio, stared at her as though offended by her presence. +She nodded to him and smiled. He raised his hat awkwardly. Boca read +jealousy in his eye. She was happy. She wanted him to care. "I +brought your saddle, senor," she said, nodding again. The men laughed, +turning to glance at Pete. Still Pete did not quite realize the +significance of her coming. "Thanks," he said abruptly. + +Boca deliberately turned her back on him and talked with The Spider. +She was hurt, and a little angry. Surely she had been his good friend. +Was Pete so stupid that he did not realize why she had ridden to +Showdown? + +The Spider, who had just learned why she was there, called to his +Mexican, who presently set a table in the patio. Slowly it dawned on +Pete that Boca had made a long ride--that she must be tired and hungry. +He felt ashamed of himself. She had been a friend to him when he +sorely needed a friend. And of course these men knew her. No doubt +they had seen her often at the Flores rancho. She had brought his +saddle back--which meant that she had found the buckskin, riderless, +and fearing that something serious had happened, had caught up the pony +and ridden to Showdown, alone, and no doubt against the wishes of her +father and mother. It was mighty fine of her! He had never realized +that girls did such things. Well, doggone it! he would let her know +that he was mighty proud to have such a pardner! + +The Spider hobbled to the patio and placed a chair for Boca, who +brushed past Pete as though he had not been there. + +"That's right!" laughed Pete. "But say, Boca, what made _me_ sore was +the way them hombres out there got fresh, joshin' you and askin' you to +sing, jest like they had a rope on you--" + +"You think of that Malvey?" + +"Well, I ain't forgittin' the way he--" + +Boca's eyes flashed. "Yes! But here it is different. The Spider, he +is my friend. It is that when I have rested and eaten he will ask me +to sing. Manuelo will play the guitar. I shall sing and laugh, for I +am no longer tired. I am happy. Perhaps I shall sing the song of 'The +Outlaw,' and for you." + +"I'll be listenin'--every minute, Boca. Mebby if I ain't jest +_lookin'_ at you--it'll be because--" + +"Si! Even like the caballero of whom I shall sing." And Boca hummed a +tune, gazing at Pete with unreadable eyes, half-smiling, half-sad. How +young, smooth-cheeked, and boyish he was, as he glanced up and returned +her smile. Yet how quickly his face changed as he turned his head +toward the doorway, ever alert for a possible surprise. Boca pushed +back her chair. "The guitar," she called, nodding to The Spider. + +Manuelo brought the guitar, tuned it, and sat back in the corner of the +patio. The men in the saloon rose and shuffled to where Boca stood, +seating themselves roundabout in various attitudes of expectancy. +Pete, who had risen, recalled The Spider's terse warning, and stepped +over to the patio doorway. Manuelo had just swept the silver strings +in a sounding prelude, when The Spider, behind the bar, gestured to +Pete. + +"No, it ain't Malvey," said The Spider, as Pete answered his abrupt +summons. "Here, take a drink while I talk. Keep your eye on the +front. Don't move your hands off the bar, for there's three men out +there, afoot, just beyond the hitching-rail. There was five, a minute +ago. I figure two of 'em have gone round to the back. Go ahead--drink +a little, and set your glass down, natural. I'm joshin' with you, +see!"--and The Spider grinned hideously. "Smile! Don't make a break +for the patio. The boys out there wouldn't understand, and Boca might +get hurt. She's goin' to sing. You turn slow, and listen. When your +back's turned, those hombres out there will step in." The Spider +laughed, as though at something Pete had said. "You're mighty +surprised to see 'em and you start to talk. Leave the rest to me." + +Pete nodded and lifted his glass. From the patio came the sound of +Boca's voice and the soft strumming of the guitar. Pete heard but +hardly realized the significance of the first line or two of the +song--and then: + + "A rider stood at the lamplit bar, + tugging the knot of his neckscarf loose, + While some one sang to the silver strings, + in the moonlight patio." + +It was the song of "The Outlaw." Pete turned slowly and faced the +patio. Manuelo swept the strings in a melodious interlude. Boca, her +vivid lips parted, smiled at Pete even as she began to sing again. +Pete could almost feel the presence of men behind him. He knew that he +was trapped, but he kept his gaze fixed on Boca's face. The Spider +spoke to some one--a word of surprised greeting. In spite of his hold +on himself Pete felt the sweat start on his lip and forehead. He was +curious as to what these men would look like; as to whether he would +know them. Perhaps they were not after him, but after some of the men +in the patio-- + +"Annersley!" + +Pete swung round, his hands up. He recognized two of the men--deputies +of Sheriff Sutton of Concho. The third man was unknown to him. + +"You're under arrest for the killing of Steve Gary." + +"How's that?" queried The Spider. + +"Steve Gary. This kid shot him--over to the Blue. We don't want any +trouble about this," continued the deputy. "We've got a couple of men +out back--" + +"There won't be any trouble," said The Spider. + +"No--there won't be any trouble," asserted Pete. "Gimme a drink, +Spider." + +"No, you don't!" said the deputy. "You got too many friends out +there," and he gestured toward the patio with his gun. + +"Not my friends," said Pete. + +Boca's song ended abruptly as she turned from her audience to glance in +Pete's direction. She saw him standing with upraised hands--and in +front of him three men--strangers to Showdown. + +Came the shuffling of feet as the men in the patio turned to see what +she was staring at. + +"Sit still!" called The Spider. "This ain't your deal, boys. They got +the man they want." + +But Boca, wide-eyed and trembling, stepped through the doorway. + +"That's close enough!" called a deputy. + +She paused, summoning all of her courage and wit to force a laugh. +"Si, senor. But you are mistaken. It is not that I care what you do +with _him_. I do but come for the wine for which I have asked, but +there was no one to bring it to me,"--and she stepped past the end of +the bar into The Spider's room. She reappeared almost instantly with a +bottle of wine. + +"I will open that for you," said The Spider. + +"Never mind!" said one of the deputies; "the lady seems to know how." + +Boca took a glass from the counter. "I will drink in the patio with my +friends." But as she passed round the end of the bar and directly +beneath the hanging lamp, she turned and paused. "But no! I will +drink once to the young vaquero, with whom is my heart and my life." +And she filled the glass and, bowing to Pete, put the glass to her lips. + +The deputy nearest Pete shrugged his shoulder. "This ain't a show." + +"Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle. It shivered +against the lamp. With the instant darkness came a streak of red and +the close roar of a shot. Pete, with his gun out and going, leapt +straight into the foremost deputy. They crashed down. Staggering to +his feet, Pete broke for the outer doorway. Behind him the room was a +pit of flame and smoke. Boca's pony reared as Pete jerked the reins +loose, swept into the saddle, and down the moonlit street. He heard a +shot and turned his head. In the patch of moonlight round The Spider's +place he saw the dim, hurrying forms of men and horses. He leaned +forward and quirted the pony with the rein-ends. + +[Illustration: "Of a truth, no!" said Boca, and she swung the bottle.] + +Back in The Spider's place men grouped round a huddled something on the +floor. The Spider, who had fetched a lamp from his room, stooped and +peered into the upturned face of Boca. A dull, black ooze spread and +spread across the floor. + +"Boca!" he shrilled, and his face was hideous. + +"Did them coyotes git her?" + +"Who was it?" + +"Where's the kid?" + +The Spider straightened and held the lamp high. "Take her in there," +and he gestured toward his room. Two of the men carried her to the +couch and covered her with the folds of the serape which had slipped +from her shoulders as she fell. + +"Say the word, Spider, and we'll ride 'em down!" It was "Scar-Face" +who spoke, a man notorious even among his kind. + +The Spider, strangely quiet, shook his head. "They'll ride back here. +They were after Young Pete. She smashed the lamp to give him a chance +to shoot his way out. They figured he'd break for the back--but he +went right into 'em. They don't know yet that they got her. And he +don't know it." He hobbled round to the back of the bar. "Have a +drink, boys, and then I'm going to close up till--" and he indicated +his room with a movement of the head. + +Young Pete, riding into the night, listened for the sound of running +horses. Finally he pulled his pony to a walk. He had ridden north--up +the trail which the posse had taken to Showdown, and directly away from +where they were searching the desert for him. And as Pete rode, he +thought continually of Boca. Unaware of what had happened--yet he +realized that she had been in great danger. This worried him--an +uncertainty that became an obsession--until he could no longer master +it with reason. He had ridden free from present hazard, unscratched +and foot-loose, with many hours of darkness before him in which to +evade the posse. He would be a fool to turn back. And yet he did, +slowly, as though an invisible hand were on his bridle-rein; forcing +him to ride against his judgment and his will. He reasoned, shrewdly, +that the posse would be anywhere but at The Spider's place, just then. + +In an hour he had returned and was knocking at the door, surprised that +the saloon was closed. + +At Pete's word, the door opened. The Spider, ghastly white in the +lamplight, blinked his surprise. + +"Playin' a hunch," stated Pete. And, "Boca here?" he queried, as he +entered. + +"In there," said The Spider, and he took the lamp from the bar. + +"What's the use of wakin' her?" said Pete. "I come back--I got a +hunch--that somethin' happened when I made my get-away. But if she's +all right--" + +"You won't wake her," said The Spider, and his voice sounded strange +and far-away. "You better go in there." + +A hot flash shot through Pete. Then came the cold sweat of a dread +anticipation. He followed The Spider to where Boca lay on the couch, +as though asleep. Pete turned swiftly, questioning with his eyes. The +Spider set the lamp on the table and backed from the room. Breathing +hard, Pete stepped forward and lifted a corner of the serape. Boca's +pretty mouth smiled up at him--but her eyes were as dead pools in the +night. + +The full significance of that white face and those dull, unseeing eyes, +swept through him like a flame. "Pardner!" he whispered, and flung +himself on his knees beside her, his shadow falling across her head and +shoulders. In the dim light she seemed to be breathing. Long he gazed +at her, recalling her manner as she had raised her glass: "I drink to +the young vaquero, with whom is my heart--_and my life_." + +Dully Pete wondered why such things should happen; why he had not been +killed instead of the girl, and which one of the three deputies had +fired the shot that had killed her. But no one could ever know +that--for the men had all fired at him when the lamp crashed down--yet +he, closer to them than Boca, had broken through their blundering +fusillade. He knew that Boca had taken a great risk--and that she must +have known it also. And she had taken that risk that he might win free. + +Too stunned and shaken to reason it out to any definite conclusion, +Pete characteristically accepted the facts as they were as he thrust +aside all thought of right or wrong and gave himself over to tearless +mourning for that which Boca had been. That dead thing with dark, +staring eyes and faintly smiling lips was not Boca. But where was she +then? + +Slowly the lamplight paled as dawn fought through the heavy shadows of +the room. The door swung open noiselessly. The Spider glanced in and +softly closed the door again. + +The Spider, he of the shriveled heart and body, did the most human +thing he had done for years. At the little table opposite the bar he +sat with brandy and a glass and deliberately drank until he felt +neither the ache of his old wounds nor the sting of this fresh thrust +of fate. Then he knew that he was drunk, but that his keen, crooked +mind would obey his will, unfeelingly, yet with no hesitation and no +stumbling. + +He rose and hobbled to the outer door. A vagrant breeze stirred the +stale air in the room. Back in the patio his Mexican, Manuelo, lay +snoring, wrapped in a tattered blanket. The Spider turned from the +doorway and gazed at the sanded spot on the floor, leaning against the +bar and drumming on its edge with his nervous fingers. "He'll see her +in every night-fire when he's alone--and he'll talk to her. He will +see her face among the girls in the halls--and he'll go cold and speak +her name, and then some girl will laugh. He will eat out his heart +thinking of her--and what she did for him. He's just a kid--but when +he comes out of that room . . . he won't give a damn if he's bumped off +or not. He'll play fast--and go through every time! God! I ought to +know!" + +The Spider turned and gazed across the morning desert. Far out rode a +group of men. One of them led a riderless horse. The Spider's thin +lips twisted in a smile. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +"PLANTED--OUT THERE" + +Malvey, loafing at the ranch of Mescalero, received The Spider's +message about the posse with affected indifference. He had Pete's +horse in his possession, which in itself would make trouble should he +be seen. When he learned from the messenger that Young Pete was in +Showdown, he fumed and blustered until evening, when he saddled Blue +Smoke and rode south toward the Flores rancho. From Flores's place he +would ride on south, across the line to where he could always find +employment for his particular talents. Experience had taught him that +it was useless to go against The Spider, whose warning, whether it were +based on fact or not, was a hint to leave the country. + +The posse from Concho, after circling the midnight desert and failing +to find any trace of Pete, finally drew together and decided to wait +until daylight made it possible to track him. As they talked together, +they saw a dim figure coming toward them. Swinging from their course, +they rode abruptly down a draw. Four of them dismounted. The fifth, +the chief deputy, volunteered to ride out and interview the horseman. +The four men on foot covered the opening of the draw, where the trail +passed, and waited. + +The deputy sat his horse, as though waiting for some one. Malvey at +once thought of Young Pete--then of The Spider's warning--and finally +that the solitary horseman might be some companion from below the +border, cautiously awaiting his approach. Half-inclined to ride wide, +he hesitated--then loosening his gun he spurred his restless pony +toward the other, prepared to "bull" through if questioned too closely. + +Within thirty feet of the deputy Malvey reined in. "You're ridin' +late," he said, with a forced friendliness in his voice. + +"This the trail to Showdown?" queried the deputy. + +"This is her. Lookin' for anybody in particular?" + +"Nope. And I reckon nobody is lookin' for me. I'm ridin my own horse." + +It was a chance shot intended to open the way to a parley--and identify +the strange horseman by his voice, if possible. It also was a +challenge, if the unknown cared to accept it as such. Malvey's slow +mind awakened to the situation. A streak of red flashed from his hand +as he spurred straight for the deputy, who slipped from his saddle and +began firing over it, shielded by his pony. A rifle snarled in the +draw. Malvey jerked straight as a soft-nosed slug tore through him. +Another slug shattered his thigh. Cursing, he lunged sideways, as Blue +Smoke bucked. Malvey toppled and fell--an inert bulk in the dim light +of the stars. + +The chief deputy struck a match and stooped. "We got the wrong man," +he called to his companions. + +"It's Bull Malvey," said one of the deputies as the match flickered +out. "I knew him in Phoenix." + +"Heard of him. He was a wild one," said another deputy. + +"Comin' and goin'! One of The Spider's bunch, and a hoss-thief right! +I reckon we done a good job." + +"He went for his gun," said the chief. + +"We had him covered from the start," asserted a deputy. "He sure won't +steal no more hosses." + +"Catch up his cayuse," commanded the chief deputy. + +Two of them, after a hard ride, finally put Blue Smoke within reach of +a rope. He was led back to where Malvey lay. + +"Concho brand!" exclaimed the chief. + +"Young Pete's horse," asserted another. + +"There'll be hell to pay if Showdown gets wise to what happened to Bull +Malvey," said the deputy, who recognized the dead outlaw. + +Dawn was just breaking when the chief deputy, disgusted with what he +termed their "luck," finally evolved a plan out of the many discussed +by his companions. "We got the cayuse--which will look good to the +T-Bar-T boys. We ain't down here for our health and we been up against +it from start to finish--and so far as I care, this is the finish. Get +it right afore we start. Young Pete is dead. We got his horse." He +paused and glanced sharply at Blue Smoke. "He's got the Concho brand!" +he exclaimed. + +"Young Pete's horse was a blue roan," said a deputy. "I guess this is +him--blue roan with a white blaze on his nose--so Cotton told me." + +"Looks like it!" said the chief deputy. "Well, say we got his horse, +then. We're in luck for once." + +"Now it's easy diggin' down there in the draw. And it's gettin' +daylight fast. I reckon that's Malvey's saddle and bridle on the blue +roan. We'll just cover up all evidence of who was ridin' this hoss, +drift into Showdown and eat, and then ride along up north and collect +that reward. We'll split her even--and who's goin' to say we didn't +earn it?" + +"Suits me," said a deputy. His companions nodded. + +"Then let's get busy. The sand's loose here. We can drag a blanket +over this--and leave the rest to the coyotes." + +They scraped a long, shallow hole in the arroyo-bed and buried Malvey +along with his saddle and bridle. + + +The Spider smiled as he saw them coming. He was still smiling as he +watched them ride up the street and tie their tired ponies to the +hitching-rail. He identified the led horse as the one Malvey had +stolen from Pete. + +"I see you got him," he said in his high-pitched voice. + +The chief deputy nodded. "He's planted--out there." + +"I meant the horse," said The Spider. + +Ordinarily, The Spider was a strange man. The posse thought him +unusually queer just then. His eyes seemed dulled with a peculiar +faint, bluish film. His manner was over-deliberate. There was +something back of it all that they could not fathom. Moreover, the +place was darkened. Some one had hung blankets over the windows. The +deputies--four of them--followed The Spider into the saloon. + +"I guess you boys want to eat," said The Spider. + +"We sure do." + +"All right. I'll have Manuelo get you something." And he called to +the Mexican, telling him to place a table in the private room--The +Spider's own room, back of the bar. While the Mexican prepared +breakfast, the posse accepted their chief's invitation to have a drink, +which they felt they needed. Presently The Spider led the way to his +room. The deputies, somewhat suspicious, hesitated on the threshold as +they peered in. A lamp was burning on the table. There were plates, +knives and forks, a coffee-pot, a platter of bacon . . . Beyond the +lamp stood Young Pete, his back toward the couch and facing them. His +eyes were like the eyes of one who walks in his sleep. + +The Spider held up his hand. "You're planted--out there. These +gentlemen say so. So you ain't here!" + +Pete's belt and gun lay on the floor. The Spider was in his +shirt-sleeves and apparently unarmed. + +The chief deputy sized up the situation in a flash and pulled his gun. +"I guess we got you--this trip, Pete." + +"No," said The Spider. "You're wrong. He's planted--out there. What +you staring at, boys? Pete, stand over there. Come right in, boys! +Come on in! I got something to show you." + +"Watch the door, Jim," said the chief. "Ed, you keep your eye on The +Spider." The chief deputy stepped to the table and peered across it at +a huddled something on the couch, over which was thrown a shimmering +serape. He stepped round the table and lifted a corner of the serape. +Boca's sightless eyes stared up at him. + +"Christ!" he whispered. "It's the girl!" And even as he spoke he knew +what had happened--that he and his men were responsible for this. His +hand shook as he turned toward The Spider. + +"She--she ran into it when she-- It's pretty tough, but--" + +"Your breakfast is waiting," said The Spider. + +"This was accidental," said the deputy, recovering himself, and +glancing from one to another of his men. Then he turned to Pete. +"Pete, you'll have to ride back with us." + +"No," said The Spider with a peculiar stubborn shrug of his shoulders. +"He's planted out there. You said so." + +"That's all right, Spider. We made a mistake. This is the man we +want." + +"Then who is planted out there?" queried The Spider in a soft, +sing-song voice, high-pitched and startling. + +"That's our business," stated the deputy. + +"No--mine!" The Spider glanced past the deputy, who turned to face a +Mexican standing in the doorway. The Mexican's hands were held belt +high and they were both "filled." + +"Get the first man that moves," said The Spider in Mexican. And as he +spoke his own hand flashed to his armpit, and out again like the stroke +of a snake. Behind his gun gleamed a pair of black, beady eyes, as +cold as the eyes of a rattler. The deputy read his own doom and the +death of at least two of his men should he move a muscle. He had Young +Pete covered and could have shot him down; Pete was unarmed. The +deputy lowered his gun. + +Pete blinked and drew a deep breath. "Give me a gun, Spider--and we'll +shoot it out with 'em, right here." + +The Spider laughed. "No. You're planted out there. These gents say +so. I'm working this layout." + +"Put up your gun, Ed," said the chief, addressing the deputy who had +The Spider covered. "He's fooled us, proper." + +"Let 'em out, one at a time," and The Spider gestured to the Mexican, +Manuelo. "And tell your friends," he continued, addressing the chief +deputy, "that Showdown is run peaceful _and that I run her_." + +When they were gone The Spider turned to Pete. "Want to ride back to +Concho?" + +Pete, who had followed The Spider to the saloon, did not seem to hear +the question. Manuelo was already sweeping out with a broom which he +had dipped in a water-bucket--as casually busy as though he had never +had a gun in his hand. Something in the Mexican's supreme indifference +touched Pete's sense of humor. He shrugged his shoulders. + +"Who's goin' to tell her father?" he queried, gesturing toward the +inner room. + +"He knows," said The Spider, who stood staring at the Mexican. + +"You're drunk," said Pete. + +"Maybe I'm drunk," echoed The Spider. "But I'm her father." + +Pete stepped forward and gazed into The Spidery scarred and lined face. +"Hell!" Then he thrust out his hand. "Spider, I reckon I'll throw in +with you." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE OLLA + +The Spider's system of bookkeeping was simple, requiring neither pen +nor paper, journal nor day-book. He kept a kind of mental loose-leaf +ledger with considerable accuracy, auditing his accounts with +impartiality. For example, Scar-Face and three companions just up from +the border recently had been credited with twenty head of Mexican +cattle which were now grazing on The Spider's border ranch, the Olla. +Scar-Face had attempted to sell the cattle to the leader of a Mexican +faction whose only assets at the time were ammunition and hope. +Scar-Face had met this chieftain by appointment at an abandoned +ranch-house. Argument ensued. The Mexican talked grandiloquently of +"Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality." Scar-Face held out for cash. The +Mexican leader needed beef. Scar-Face needed money. As he had rather +carelessly informed the Mexican that he could deliver the cattle +immediately, and realizing his mistake,--for he knew that the Mexican +would straightway summon his retainers and take the cattle in the name +of "Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality,"--Scar-Face promptly shot this +self-appointed savior of Mexico, mortally wounded one of his two +companions, and finally persuaded the other to help drift the cattle +north with a promise of a share of the profits of the enterprise. + +The surviving Mexican rode to Showdown with Scar-Face and his +companions, received his share of the sale in cash,--which he +squandered at The Spider's place,--and straightway rode back across the +border to rejoin his captainless comrades and appoint himself their +leader, gently insinuating that he himself had shot the captain whom he +had apprehended in the treachery of betraying them to a rival +aggregation of ragged Liberties, Fraternities, and Equalities. + +The Spidery mental ledger read: "Scar-Face--Debit, chuck, liquor, and +lodging"--an account of long standing--"and forty dollars in cash. +Credit--twenty head of cattle, brand unknown." + +Scar-Face's account was squared--for the time being. + +Pete was also on The Spider's books, and according to The Spider's +system of accounts, Pete was heavily in debt to him. Not that The +Spider would have ever mentioned this, or have tried to collect. But +when he offered Pete a job on his ranch he shrewdly put Pete in the way +of meeting his obligations. + +Cattle were in demand, especially in Mexico, so ravaged by lawless +soldiery that there was nothing left to steal. One outlaw chieftain, +however, was so well established financially that his agents were able +to secure supplies from a mysterious source and pay for them with gold, +which also came from an equally mysterious source--and it was with +these agents that The Spider had had his dealings. His bank account in +El Paso was rolling up fast. Thus far he had been able to supply beef +to the hungry liberators of Mexico; but beef on the hoof was becoming +scarce on both sides of the border. Even before Pete had come to +Showdown, The Spider had perfected a plan to raid the herds of the +northern ranches. Occasional cowboys drifting to Showdown had given +him considerable information regarding the physical characteristics of +the country roundabout these ranches, the water-holes, trails, and +grazing. + +The Spider knew that he could make only one such raid, with any chance +of success. If he made a drive at all, it would be on a big scale. +The cattlemen would eventually trail the first stolen herd to his +ranch. True, they would not find it there. He would see to it that +the cattle were pushed across the border without delay. But a second +attempt would be out of the question. The chief factor in the success +of the scheme would be the prompt handling of the herd upon its +arrival. He had cowboys in his employ who would steal the cattle. +What he needed was a man whom he could rely upon to check the tally and +turn the herd over to the agents of the Mexican soldiery and collect +the money on the spot, while his cowboys guarded the herd from a +possible raid by the Mexicans themselves. He knew that should the +northern ranchmen happen to organize quickly and in force, they would +not hesitate to promptly lynch the raiders, burn his buildings, take +all his horses worth taking, and generally put the ranch out of +business. + +Thus far the ranch had paid well as a sort of isolated clearing-house +for The Spider's vicarious accounts. The cowboys who worked there were +picked men, each of whom received a straight salary, asked no +questions, and rode with a high-power rifle under his knee and a keen +eye toward the southern ranches. + +Pete, riding south, bore an unsigned letter from The Spider, with +instructions to hand it to the foreman of "The Olla" and receive +further instructions from that gentleman. Pete knew nothing of the +contemplated raid, The Spider shrewdly surmising that Pete would balk +at the prospect of stealing cattle from his own countrymen. And it was +because of this very fact that The Spider had intrusted Pete--by letter +to the foreman--with the even greater responsibility of receiving the +money for the cattle and depositing it in a certain bank in El Paso. +Heretofore, such payments had been made to The Spider's representative +in that city--the president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings +Bank--who had but recently notified The Spider that he could no longer +act in the capacity of agent on account of local suspicion, already +voiced in the current newspapers. Hereafter The Spider would have to +deal directly with the Mexican agents. And The Spider unhesitatingly +chose Pete as his representative, realizing that Pete was shrewdly +capable, fearless, and to be trusted. + +Toward evening of the third day out of Showdown, Pete came upon a most +unexpected barrier to his progress--a wire fence stretching east and +west; a seemingly endless succession of diminishing posts. He +estimated that there must he at least forty thousand acres under fence. +According to location, this was The Spider's ranch--the Olla--Pete +reined around and rode along the fence for a mile or so, searching for +a gateway; but the taut barbed wire ran on and on, toward a sun that +was rounding swiftly down to the western horizon. He dismounted and +pulled the staples from several lengths of wire until he had enough +slack to allow the top wire to touch the ground. He stood on the wires +and jockeyed Blue Smoke across, tied him to a post, and tacked the wire +back in place. + +Headed south again, he had just passed a clump of chaparral when up +from the draw came a tall, muscular cowboy, riding a big horse--and a +fast one, thought Pete. + +"Evenin'," drawled the cowboy--a slow-speaking Texan, who was evidently +waiting for Pete to explain his presence. + +"How!--Is this here the Olla ranch?" + +"One end of her." + +"I'm lookin' for the foreman." + +"What name did you say?" + +"I didn't say." + +"What's your business down this way?" queried the cowboy. + +"It's mine. I dunno as it's any of yours." + +"So? Now, that's mighty queer! Lookin' for the fo'man, eh? Well, go +ahead and look--they's plenty of room." + +"Too much," laughed Pete. "Reckon I got to bush here and do my huntin' +in the mornin'--only"--and Pete eyed the other significantly--"I kind +of hate to bush on the ground. I was bit by a spider onct--" + +"A spider, eh? Now that's right comical. What kind of a spider was it +that bit you?" + +"Trap-door spider. Only this here one was always home." + +"So?" drawled the Texan. "Now, that's right funny. I was bit by a +rattler once. Got the marks on my arm yet." + +"Well, if it comes to a showdown, that there spider bite--" + +"The ranch-house is yonder," said the Texan. "Just you ride along the +way you're headed. That's a pretty horse you're settin' on. If it +wa'n't so dark I'd say he carried the Concho brand." + +"That's him," said Pete. + +"He's a long jump from home, friend." + +"And good for twice that distance, neighbor." + +"You sure please me most to death," drawled the Texan. + +"Then I reckon you might call in that there coyote in the brush over +there that's been holdin' a gun on me ever since we been talkin',"--and +Pete gestured with his bridle hand toward the clump of chaparral. + +"Sam," called the Texan, "he says he don't like our way of welcomin' +strangers down here. He's right friendly, meetin' one man at a +time--but he don't like a crowd, nohow." + +A figure loomed in the dusk--a man on foot who carried a rifle across +his arm. Pete could not distinguish his features, but he saw that the +man was tall, booted and spurred, and evidently a line-rider with the +Texan. + +"This here young stinging-lizard says he wants to see the fo'man, Sam. +Kin you help him out?" + +"Go ahead and speak your piece," said the man with the rifle. + +"She's spoke," said Pete. + +"I'm the man you're huntin'," asserted the other. + +"You foreman?" + +"The same." + +"Thought you was jest a hand--ridin' fence, mebby." And as Pete spoke +he rolled a cigarette. His pony shied at the flare of the match, but +Pete caught an instant glimpse of a lean-faced, powerfully built man of +perhaps fifty years or more who answered The Spider's description of +the foreman. "I got a letter here for Sam Brent, foreman of the Olla," +said Pete. + +"Now you're talkin' business." + +"His business," laughed the Texan. + +"Nope--The Spider's," asserted Pete. + +"Your letter will keep," said the foreman. "Ed, you drift on along +down the fence till you meet Harper. Tell him it's all right." And +the foreman disappeared in the dusk to return astride a big cowhorse. +"We'll ride over to the house," said he. + +Pete estimated that they had covered three or four miles before the +ranch-buildings came in sight--a dim huddle of angles against the +starlit sky. To his surprise the central building was roomy and +furnished with a big table, many chairs, and a phonograph, while the +floor was carpeted with Navajo blankets, and a big shaded hanging lamp +illumined the table on which were scattered many dog-eared magazines +and a few newspapers. Pete had remarked upon the stables while turning +his own horse into the corral. "We got some fast ones," was all that +the foreman chose to say, just then. + +Pete and the foreman had something to eat in the chuck-house, and +returned to the larger building. Brent read The Spider's letter, +rolled the end of his silver-gray mustache between his thumb and +forefinger, and finally glanced up. "So, you're Pete Annersley?" + +"That's my name." + +"Have a chair. You're right young to be riding alone. How did you +come to throw in with The Spider?" + +Pete hesitated. Why should he tell this man anything other than that +he had been sent by The Spider with the letter which--he had been +told--would explain his presence and embody his instructions? + +"Don't he say in that letter?" queried Pete. + +"He says you were mixed up in a bank robbery over to Enright," stated +the foreman. + +"That's a dam' lie!" flared Pete. + +"I reckon you'll do," said Brent, as he folded the letter. The Spider +had made that very statement in his letter to Brent for the purpose of +finding out, through the foreman, whether or not Pete had taken it upon +himself to read the letter before delivering it. And Brent, aware of +The Spider's methods, realized at once why his chief had misstated the +facts. It was evident that Pete had not read the letter, otherwise he +would most probably have taken his cue from The Spider's assertion +about the bank robbery and found himself in difficulties, for directly +after the word "Enright" was a tiny "x"--a code letter which meant +"This is not so." + +"Reckon I'll do what?" queried Pete. "Let The Spider or anybody like +him run a whizzer on me after I run a good hoss ragged to git here with +his doggone letter--and then git stuck up like I was a hoss-thief? You +got another guess, uncle." + +The old cowman's eyes twinkled. "You speak right out in meetin', don't +you, son?" His drawl was easy and somehow reminded Pete of Pop +Annersley. "Now there's some wouldn't like that kind of talk--even +from a kid." + +"I'd say it to The Spider as quick as I would to you," asserted Pete. + +"Which might be takin' a chance, both ways." + +"Say"--and Pete smiled--"I guess I been talkin' pretty fast, I was some +het up. The Spider used me as white as he could use anybody, I reckon. +But ever since that killin' up to his place, I been sore at the whole +doggone outfit runnin' this here world. What does a fella git, anyhow, +for stickin' up for himself, if he runs against a killer? He gits +bumped off--or mebby he kills the other fella and gits run out of the +country or hung. Pardners stick, don't they? Well, how would it git +you if you had a pardner that--well, mebby was a girl and she got +killed by a bunch of deputies jest because she was quick enough to +spoil their game? Would you feel like shakin' hands with every doggone +hombre you met up with, or like tellin' him to go to hell and sendin' +him there if he was lookin to argue with you? I dunno. Mebby I'm +wrong--from the start--but I figure all a fella gits out of this game +is a throwdown, comin' or goin'--'for the deck is stacked and the wheel +is crooked." + +"I was fifty-six last February," said Brent. + +"And how many notches you got on your gun?" queried Pete. + +"Oh, mebby two, three," drawled the foreman. + +"That's it! Say you started in callin' yourself a growed man when you +was twenty. Every ten years you had to hand some fella his finish to +keep from makin' yours. 'Got to kill to live,' is right!" + +"Son, you got a good horse, and yonder is the whole State of Texas, +where a man can sure lose himself without tryin' hard. There's plenty +of work down there for a good cow-hand. And a man's name ain't printed +on his face. Nobody's got a rope on you." + +"I git you," said Pete. "But I throwed in with The Spider--and that +goes." + +"That's your business--and as you was sayin' your business ain't mine. +But throwin' a fast gun won't do you no good round here." + +"Oh, I don't claim to be so doggone fast," stated Pete. + +"Faster than Steve Gary?" + +Pete's easy glance centered to a curious, tense gaze which was fixed on +the third button of Brent's shirt. "What about Steve Gary?" asked +Pete, and even Brent, old hand as he was, felt the sinister +significance in that slow question. The Spider's letter had said to +"give him a try-out," which might have meant almost anything to a +casual reader, but to Brent it meant just what he had been doing that +evening--seeking for a weak spot in Pete's make-up, if there were such, +before hiring him. + +"My gun is in the bedroom," said Brent easily. + +"Well, Gary's wasn't," said Pete. + +"We ain't had a gun-fight on this ranch since I been foreman," said +Brent. "And we got some right fast men, at that. Seein' you're goin' +to work for me a spell, I'm goin' to kind of give you a line on things. +You can pick your own string of horses--anything that you can get your +rope on that ain't branded 'J.E.', which is pet stock and no good at +workin' cattle. You met up with Ed Brevoort this evenin'. Well, you +can ride fence with Ed and he'll show you the high spots and +hollows--and the line--south. If you run onto any strangers ridin' too +close to the line, find out what they want. If you can't find out, get +word to me. That goes for strangers. But if you get to arguin' with +any of my boys--talk all you like--but don't start a smoke--_for you +won't get away with it_. The Spider ain't payin' guns to shoot up his +own outfit. If you're lookin' for real trouble, all you got to do is +to ride south acrost the line--and you'll find it. And you're gettin' +a straight hundred a month and your keep as long as you work for the +Olla." + +"Which is some different from takin' my hoss and fannin' it easy for +Texas," said Pete, grinning. + +"Some different," said Brent. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +OVER THE LINE + +Few cattle grazed across the Olla's well-fenced acres--and these cattle +were of a poor strain, lean Mexican stock that would never run into +weight as beef. Pete had expected to see many cattle--and much work to +be done. Instead, there were few cattle; and as for work--he had been +put to riding line with big Ed Brevoort. For two weeks he had done +nothing else. Slowly it dawned upon Pete that The Spider's ranch was +little more than a thoroughfare for the quick handling of occasional +small bands of cattle from one questionable owner to another. He saw +many brands, and few of them were alike, and among them none that were +familiar. Evidently the cattle were from the south line. The +saddle-stock was branded "J.E." and "The Olla." These brands appeared +on none of the cattle that Pete had seen. About a month after his +arrival, and while he was drifting slowly along the fence with +Brevoort, Pete caught sight of a number of horsemen, far out beyond the +ranch-line, riding slowly toward the north. He spoke to Brevoort, who +nodded. "We're like to be right busy soon." + +Brevoort and Pete rode to the ranch-house that evening to get supplies +for their line shack. The place was all but deserted. The cook was +there--and the Mexican Jose who looked after the "fast ones" in the +stables; but Brent, Harper, Sandy Bell, and the rest of the men were +gone. Pete thought of the horsemen that he had seen--and of Brevoort's +remark, that they would "be right busy soon." Pete wondered how soon, +and how busy. + +The day after the departure of the men, Brevoort told Pete that they +would take turn about riding the north line, in an eight-hour shift, +and he cautioned Pete to be on the lookout for a messenger riding a bay +horse--"Not a cow-horse, but a thoroughbred." + +This was at the line shack. + +Several nights later, as Pete was riding his line, he noticed that Blue +Smoke occasionally stopped and sniffed, and always toward the north. +Near the northwestern angle of the fence, Pete thought he could hear +the distant drumming of hoofs. Blue Smoke fretted and fought the bit. +Pete dismounted and peered into the darkness. The rhythmic stride of a +running horse came to him--not the quick patter of a cow-pony, but the +long, sweeping stride of a racer. + +Then out of the night burst a rider on a foam-flecked horse that reared +almost into the gate, which Pete unlooped and dragged back. + +"That you, Brevoort?" called the horseman. + +"He's at the shack," Pete shouted, as the other swept past. + +"Looks like we're goin' to be right busy," reflected Pete as he swung +to the saddle. "We'll jest jog over to the shack and report." + +When he arrived at the line shack, Brevoort was talking with the +hard-riding messenger. Near them stood the thoroughbred, his flanks +heaving, his neck sweat-blackened, his sides quivering with fatigue. +He had covered fifty miles in five hours. + +"--and countin' the Concho stuff--I'd say something like two hundred +head," the messenger was saying. "Brent'll be in to-morrow, long 'bout +noon. So far, she worked slick. No trouble and a show of gettin' +through without any trouble. Not much young stock, so they're drivin' +fast." + +Brevoort turned to Pete. "Take this horse over to the corral. Tell +Moody that Harper is in, and that the boys will be here in a couple of +days. He'll know what to do." + +Pete rode at a high lope, leading the thoroughbred, and wondering why +the messenger had not gone on to the corral. Moody, the cook, a +grizzled, heavy-featured man, too old for hard riding, expressed no +surprise at Pete's message, but awakened the Mexican stableman and told +him to fetch up a "real one," which the Mexican did with alertness, +returning to the house leading another sleek and powerful thoroughbred. +"Take him over to the shack," said Moody. "Harper wants him." And he +gave Pete a package of food which he had been preparing while the +Mexican was at the stable. + +When Pete returned to the line shack he found Brevoort sitting in the +doorway smoking, and the messenger asleep on the ground, his head on +his saddle. + +"Here's your horse," said Brevoort, "and some chuck." + +Harper sat up quickly, too quickly for a man who had ridden as far as +he had. Pete wondered at the other's hardihood and grit, for Harper +was instantly on his feet and saddling the fresh horse, and +incidentally cursing the Olla, Brent, and the universe in general, with +a gusto which bespoke plenty of unspoiled vigor. + +"Tell Brent the coast is clear," said Brevoort as Harper mounted. + +They could hear his horse getting into his stride long before the sound +of his hoofbeats was swallowed up in the abyss of the night. + +Pete turned in. Brevoort rode out to drift along the line fence until +daylight. + +And Pete dreamed strange dreams of night-riders who came and went +swiftly and mysteriously; and of a dusty, shuffling herd that wound its +slow way across the desert, hazed by a flitting band of armed riders +who continually glanced back as though fearful of pursuit. Suddenly +the dream changed. He was lying on a bed in a long, white-walled room, +dimly lighted by a flickering gas-jet, and Boca stood beside him gazing +down at him wistfully. He tried to speak to her, but could not. Nor +did she speak to him, but laid her hand on his forehead, pressing down +his eyelids. Her hand was dry and hot. Pete tried to open his +eyes--to raise his hand, to speak. Although his eyes were closed and +Boca's hot hand was pressed down on them, Pete knew that round-about +was a light and warmth of noonday . . . Boca's hand drew back--and +Pete lay staring straight into the morning sun which shone through the +open doorway. In the distance he could see Brevoort riding slowly +toward him. Pete raised on his elbow and threw back the blankets. As +he rose and pulled on his overalls he thought of the messenger. He +knew that somewhere back on the northern trail the men of the Olla were +pushing a herd of cattle slowly south,--cattle from the T-Bar-T, the +Blue, and . . . he suddenly recalled Harper's remark--"And countin' the +Concho stuff . . ." Pete thought of Jim Bailey and Andy White, and of +pleasant days riding for the Concho. But after all, it was none of his +affair. He had had no hand in stealing the cattle. He would do well +enough to keep his own hide whole. Let the cattlemen who lived under +the law take care of their own stock and themselves. And curiously +enough, Pete for the first time wondered what had become of Malvey--if +the posse had actually shot him, or if they had simply taken the horse +and let Malvey go. The arrival of Brevoort put an end to his pondering. + +"Brent will be in to-day," said Brevoort. "You stick around here; and +call me about noon." + +"The old man ain't takin' chances," remarked Pete. + +"You're wrong there," asserted Brevoort. "He's takin' the long chance +every time, or he wouldn't be foreman of this outfit. You'll find that +out if you stick round here long enough. If you don't call it takin' a +chance pullin' off a trick like this one that's comin', jest try it +yourself." + +"He handles men easy," asserted Pete, recalling Brent's rather fatherly +advice in regard to Texas and the opportunity for a young man to go +straight. + +"You sure please me most to death," drawled Brevoort. "You been a +right quiet little pardner, and smilin', so I'm going to tell you +somethin' that you can keep right on bein' quiet about. Sam Brent +would send you or me or any man into a gun-fight, or a posse, or a +jail, and never blink his eye, if he thought it was good business for +him. He'd do it pleasant, too, jest like he was sendin' you to a +dance, or a show. But he'd go jest as quick hisself, if he had to." + +"Then I guess we got no kick," said Pete. + +"I ain't kickin'. I'm jest puttin' you wise." + +"I ain't forgittin', Ed." + +Pete turned, following Brevoort's gaze. The man they were talking +about was in sight and riding hard. Presently Brent was close enough +to nod to them. Although he had ridden far and fast, he was as casual +as sunshine. Neither in his voice nor his bearing was the least trace +of fatigue. + +"I'm goin' to need you," he told Pete. "We're short of hands right +now. If you need anything over in the line shack, go git it and come +along down after Ed and me." + +Pete took the hint and left Brevoort and Brent to ride to the house +together while he rode over to the shack and warmed up some coffee and +beans. In an hour he was at the house. A thoroughbred stood at the +hitching-rail. Pete noticed that the animal carried Brevoort's saddle. +Evidently there was to be more hard riding. As Pete entered the big +room, he also noticed that Brevoort was heavily armed, and carried an +extra belt of cartridges. Brent was examining a rifle when Pete +stepped in. "You may need this," said Brent, handing the rifle and +scabbard to Pete. "Go over to the bunk-house and get another belt and +some shells." + +When Pete returned, Blue Smoke was in the corral and his own saddle was +on a big bay that looked like a splendid running-mate for Brevoort's +mount. Pete busied himself slinging the rifle, curious as to what his +new venture would or could be, yet too proud to show that he was +interested. + +Brevoort, hitching up his belt, swung to his horse. Without hesitation +Pete followed. Well-fed, eager and spirited, the horses lunged out +into the open and settled into a long, swinging stride--a gait that was +new to Pete, accustomed as he was to the shorter, quick action of the +cow-pony. + +They rode south, across the sunlit expanse of emptiness between the +hacienda and the line. A few hundred yards beyond the fence, Brevoort +reined in. "Mexico," he said, gesturing round about. "Our job is to +ride to the Ortez rancho and get that outfit movin' up this way." + +"Goin' to turn the cattle over to 'em?" queried Pete. + +"Yes--and that quick they won't know they got 'em. It's a big deal, if +she goes through. If she don't, it's like to be the finish of the +Olla." + +"Meanin' if the T-Bar-T and the Concho gits busy, there's like to be +some smoke blowin' down this way?" + +"The same. Recollect what I was tellin' you this mornin'." + +"About Brent sendin' a man into a fight?" + +"Yes. But I wasn't figurin' on provin' it to you so quick," drawled +the Texan. "Hold your horse down to a walk. We'll save speed for a +spell. No, I wasn't figurin' on this. You see, when I hired out to +Brent, I knew what I was doin'--so I told him I'd jest earn my pay on +the white side of the border--but no Mexico for mine. That was the +understandin'. Now he goes to work and sends you and me down into this +here country on a job which is only fit for a Greaser. I'm goin' to +see it through, but I done made my last ride for the Olla." + +"Brent was sayin' he was short of hands," suggested Pete. + +"Which is correct. But there's that Jose who knows every foot of the +dry-spot clean to the Ortez--and he knows every hoss-thief in this +sun-blasted country. Does he send Jose? No. He sends two white men, +tellin' me that it is too big a deal to trust the Mexican with." + +"And a fine chance of gittin' bumped off by a lousy bunch of Cholas +callin' themselves soldiers, eh?" + +"You said it." + +"Well, we got good hosses, anyway. And I sabe the Mexican talk." + +"Guess that's why Brent sent you along. He knows I talk mighty little +Mexican." And Brevoort gazed curiously at Pete. + +"Seein' as you feel that way about it, Ed, I got somethin' I been +millin' over in my head. Now, when The Spider sent me down here he +said he had some important business he wanted me to handle. Brent was +to tell me. Now I don't see anything important about ridin' line or +chasin' into Mexico to wake up a bunch of Greasers and tell 'em to get +busy. Uncle Sammy Brent's got somethin' hid up his sleeve, Ed." + +Brevoort, riding slowly beside Pete, turned from gazing across the +desert and looked Pete over from spur to sombrero with a new interest. +He thought he knew now why The Spider had sent Pete to the ranch and +why Brent, in turn, had sent Pete on this dangerous mission. "Is The +Spider much of a friend of yours?" queried Brevoort suddenly. + +"Why, I dunno. 'Course he acted like he was--but you can't tell about +him. He--he helped me out of a hole onct." + +"Did you ever help him out?" + +"Me? No, I never had the chanct." + +"Uh-huh. Well, just you pull in your hoss and run your good eye over +this a minute." And Brevoort drew a folded slip of paper from his +shirt-pocket and handed it to Pete. It was a brief note addressed to +Brevoort and signed "J.E." It instructed Brevoort to accompany Pete +Annersley to El Paso after the sale of the cattle and to see to it that +the money which Annersley would have with him was deposited to the +credit of James Ewell in the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank. + +Pete had difficulty in reading the note and took some time to read it, +finally handing it back to Brevoort in silence. And then, "Where did +you git it? Who is 'J.E.'?" + +"From Harper. 'J.E.' is Jim Ewell--The Spider." + +"So Harper rode to Showdown and back?" + +"He took word from Brent to The Spider that the boys had started," said +Brevoort. + +"And Brent--" Pete hesitated for fear of committing himself even though +he trusted Brevoort. But Brevoort had no hesitation. He anticipated +Pete's thought and spoke frankly. + +"Brent figured it fine. I knew why he sent you and me on this +ride--but I was tryin' to find out if you was wise--or ridin' blind. +If we come back, Brent won't show his hand. If we don't come back +he'll collect the dough and vamoose. Kin you see a hole in the fence?" + +"You're whistlin', Ed! It's one crook tryin' to git the best of +another crook. But I would 'a' said Brent was straight. I say The +Spider's money goes into that there bank." + +"Same here. I ain't so dam' honest that it hurts me, but I quit when +it comes to stealin' from the man that's payin' my wages." + +"Then I reckon you and me is pardners in this deal," and Pete, boyishly +proffered his hand. + +Big Ed Brevoort grasped Pete's hand, and held it till the horses shied +apart. "To the finish," he said. + +"To the finish," echoed Pete, and with one accord they slackened rein. +The thoroughbreds reached out into that long, tireless running stride +that brought their riders nearer and nearer to the Ortez rancho and the +Mexican agent of the guerilla captain whose troops were so sadly in +need of beef. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +A GAMBLE + +On either side of a faint trail rose the dreary, angling grotesques of +the cactus, and the dried and dead stalks of the soapweed. Beyond, to +the south, lay a sea of shimmering space, clear to the light blue that +edged the sky-line. The afternoon sun showed copper-red through a +faint haze which bespoke a change of weather. The miles between the +Olla and that tiny dot on the horizon--the Ortez hacienda--seemed +endless, because of no pronounced landmarks. Pete surmised that it +would be dark long before they reached their destination. Incidentally +he was amazed by the speed of the thoroughbreds, who ran so easily, yet +with a long, reaching stride that ate into the miles. To Pete they +seemed more like excellent machines than horses--lacking the pert +individuality of the cow-pony. Stall-fed and groomed to a satin-smooth +glow, stabled and protected from the rains--pets, in Pete's +estimation--yet he knew that they would run until they dropped, holding +that long, even stride to the very end. He reached out and patted his +horse on the neck. Instantly the sensitive ears twitched and the +stride lengthened. Pete tightened rein gently. "A quirt would only +make him crazy," he thought; and he grinned as he saw that Brevoort's +horse had let out a link or two to catch up with its mate. + +The low sun, touching the rim of the desert, flung long crimson shafts +heavenward--in hues of rose and amethyst, against the deep umber and +the purple of far spaces. From monotonous and burning desolation the +desert had become a vast momentary solitude of changing beauty and +enchantment. Then all at once the colors vanished, space shrank, and +occasional stars trembled in the velvet roof of the night. And one +star, brighter than the rest, grew gradually larger, until it became a +solitary camp-fire on the level of the plain. + +"Don't like the looks of that," said Brevoort, as he pulled up his +horse. "It's out in front of the 'dobe--and it means the Ortez has got +company." + +"Soldiers?" + +"Looks like it." + +"Arguilla's men?" + +"I reckon so. And they're up pretty clost to the line--too clost to +suit me. We'll ride round and do our talkin' with Ortez." + +"Ain't they friendly?" queried Pete. + +"Friendly, hell! Any one of 'em would knife you for the hoss you're +ridin'! Hear 'em sing! Most like they're all drunk--and you know what +that means. Just follow along slow; and whatever you run into don't +get off your hoss." + +"Ain't them there coyotes friendly to Ortez?" + +"S' long as he feeds 'em. But that don't do us no good. Ought to be +some of the Ortez riders hangin' round somewhere. They don't mix much +with Arguilla's men." + +"She's a lovely lay-out," said Pete. "But I'm with you." + +Circling the ranch, Brevoort and Pete rode far out into the desert, +until the camp-fire was hidden by the ranch-buildings. Then they +angled in cautiously, edging past the 'dobe outbuildings and the +corrals toward the hacienda. "Don't see anybody around. Guess they +'re all out in front drinkin' with the bunch," whispered Brevoort. +Just as Pete was about to make a suggestion, a figure rose almost +beneath the horse's head, and a guttural Mexican voice told him to +halt. Pete complied, telling the Mexican that they were from the Olla, +that they had a message for Ortez. + +"No use arguin'," said Brevoort--and Pete caught Brevoort's meaning as +another man appeared. + +"Ask him if Arguilla is here," said Brevoort. And Pete knew that these +were Arguilla's men, for none of the Ortez vaquero's carried +bolt-action rifles. + +The sentry replied to Pete's question by poking him in the ribs with +the muzzle of his rifle, and telling his to get down muy pronto. + +"Tell him our message is for Arguilla--not Ortez," suggested Brevoort. +"There's something wrong here. No use startin' anything," he added +hastily, as he dismounted. "Ortez is agent for Arguilla's outfit. If +you get a chance, watch what they do with our horses." + +"We came to see El Comandante," said Pete as the sentries marched them +to the house. "We're his friends--and you'll be coyote-meat before +mornin' if you git too careless with that gun." + +The sentry grunted and poked Pete in the back with his rifle, informing +him in that terse universal idiom that he could "tell it to El +Comandante." + +From the outer darkness to the glare of the light in the 'dobe was a +blinding transition. Pete and Brevoort blinked at the three figures in +the main room: Arguilla, who sat at the long table, his heavy features +glistening with sweat, his broad face flushed to a dull red, had his +hand on a bottle of American whiskey, from which he had just filled his +glass. Near him sat the owner of the rancho, Ortez, a man much older, +bearded and lean, with face lined and interlined by weather and age. +At the closed door stood a sentry. From without came raucous laughter +and the singing of the soldiers. The sentry nearest Pete told Arguilla +that the Gringoes had been caught sneaking in at the back of the +hacienda. + +Pete briskly corrected this statement. "We're from the Olla--about the +cattle--for your army," added Pete, no whit abashed as he proffered +this bit of flattery. + +"Si! You would talk with the patron then?"--and Arguilla gestured +toward Ortez. + +"We got orders from Brent--he's our boss---to make our talk to you," +said Pete, glancing quickly at Brevoort. + +"How did you know that I was here with my army?" queried Arguilla. + +"Shucks! That's easy. It's in all the papers," asserted Pete, rather +proud of himself, despite the hazard of the situation. + +Arguilla's chest swelled noticeably. He rose and strutted up and down +the room, as though pondering a grave and weighty question. Presently +he turned to Ortez. "You have heard, senor?" + +Ortez nodded. And in that nod Brevoort read the whole story. Ortez +was virtually a prisoner on his own ranch. The noble captain of +Liberty had been known to use his best friends in this way. + +"When will the cattle arrive at the Olla?" asked Arguilla, seating +himself. + +"To-morrow, Senor Comandante. That is the word from Sam Brent." + +"And you have come for the money, then?" + +Pete barely hesitated. "No. Brent said there ain't no hurry about +that. He said you could figure on two hundred head"--Pete recalled +Harper's statement--"and that you would send your agent over to the +Olla with the cash." + +Arguilla glanced at Ortez. "You have heard, senor?" + +Ortez nodded dejectedly. He had heard, but he dare not speak. As the +trusted agent of the financiers backing Arguilla, he had but recently +been given the money for the purchase of these supplies, and almost on +the heels of the messenger bearing the money had come Arguilla, who at +once put Ortez under arrest, conveyed the money to his own coffers, and +told the helpless Ortez that he could settle with the Gringo Brent +according to the understanding between them. + +Brevoort, silently eying Arguilla, saw through the scheme. Arguilla +had determined to have both the money and the cattle. This explained +his unwonted presence at the Ortez hacienda. + +Arguilla took a stiff drink of whiskey, wiped his mustache and turned +to Brevoort. "You have heard?" he said. + +Brevoort knew enough Mexican to understand the question. "We'll tell +Brent that everything is all right," he said easily. "But he's a dam' +liar," he added in an undertone to Pete. Brevoort had made the mistake +of assuming that because he did not understand Mexican, Arguilla did +not understand English. Arguilla did not hear all that Brevoort said, +but he caught the one significant word. His broad face darkened. +These Gringoes knew too much! He would hold them until the cattle had +been delivered--and then they could join his army--or be shot. A mere +detail, in either event. + +"Put these men under arrest!" he commanded the sentries. "If they +escape--you are dead men." + +"What's the idee--" began Pete, but the noble captain waved his hand, +dismissing all argument, along with the sentries, who marched their +prisoners to the stable and told them plainly that they had much rather +shoot them than be bothered with watching them; a hint that Pete +translated for Brevoort's benefit. + +One of the sentries lighted a dusty lantern and, placing it on the +floor of a box stall, relieved his captives of their belts and guns. +The sentries squatted at the open end of the stall and talked together +while Brevoort and Pete sat each in a corner staring at the lantern. + +Presently Brevoort raised his head. "Find out if either of 'em sabe +American talk," he whispered. + +"You sabe my talk?" queried Pete. + +One of the sentries turned to stare at Pete. The Mexican shook his +head. + +"You're a liar by the watch--and your father was a pig and the son of a +pig, wasn't he?" asked Pete, smiling pleasantly. + +"Si!" said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendly +joke. + +"And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he's +jest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soon +knife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?" And +Pete smiled engagingly. + +"Si. It is to laugh." + +"You sabe whiskey?" + +The Mexican shook his head. + +"You sabe dam' fool?" Pete's manner was serious as though seeking +information. + +Again the Mexican shook his head. + +"He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort--"or he'd 'a' jest +nacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' fool +means, he don't know American." + +Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of +gambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster had +taken their fancy. Pete and his companion watched them for a while. + +Presently Pete attracted Brevoort's attention by moving a finger. +"Hear anything?" he whispered. + +"I hear 'em eatin'," said Brevoort. He was afraid to use the word +"horses." + +Pete nodded. "Speakin' of eatin'--you hungry, Ed?" + +"Plumb empty. But I didn't know it till you asked me." + +"Well, I been feelin' round in the hay--and right in my corner is a +nest full of eggs. There's so doggone many I figure that some of 'em +is gettin' kind of ripe. Did you ever git hit in the eye with a ripe +egg?" + +"Not that I recollect'." + +"Well, you would--if you had. Now I don't know what that swelled up +gent in there figures on doin' with us. And I don't aim to hang around +to find out. These here Cholas is gamblin' for our hosses, right now. +It kind of looks to me like if we stayed round here much longer we +ain't goin' to need any hosses or anything else. I worked for a +Mexican onct--and I sabe 'em. You got to kind of feel what they mean, +and never mind what they are sayin'. Now I got a hunch that we don't +get back to the Olla, never--'less we start right now." + +"But how in--" + +"Wait a minute. I'm goin' to dig round like I was goin' to take a +sleep--and find these here eggs. Then I'm goin' to count 'em nacheral, +and pile 'em handy to you. Then we rig up a deal like we was gamblin' +for 'em, to kind of pass the time. If that don't git them two coyotes +interested, why, nothin' will. Next to gamblin' a Chola likes to +_watch_ gamblin' better 'n 'most anything. When you git to win all my +eggs, I make a holler like I'm mad. You been cheatin'. And if them +two Cholas ain't settin' with their mouths open and lookin' at us, why, +I don't know Cholas. They're listenin' right now--but they don't sabe. +Go ahead and talk like you was askin' me somethin'." + +"What's your game after we start beefin' about the eggs?" + +"You pick up a couple--and I pick up a couple. First you want to move +round so you kin swing your arm. When I call you a doggone bald-face +short-horn, jest let your Chola have the eggs plumb in his eye. If +they bust like I figure, we got a chanct to jump 'em--but we got to +move quick. They's a old single-tree layin' right clost to your elbow, +kind of half under the hay. Mebby it'll come handy. I figure to kick +my friend in the face when I jump. Do I find them eggs?" + +"Dig for 'em," drawled the Texan. + +"If we miss the first jump, then they shoot, and that'll be our finish. +But that's a heap better 'n gittin' stood up against a 'dobe wall. I +jest found them eggs." + +And Pete uttered an exclamation as he drew his hand from the straw +behind him, and produced an egg. The Mexicans glanced up. Pete dug in +the straw and fetched up another egg--and another. Brevoort leaned +forward as though deeply interested in some sleight-of-hand trick. Egg +after egg came from the abandoned nest. The Mexicans laughed. The +supply of eggs seemed to be endless. + +Finally Pete drew out his hand, empty. "Let's count 'em," he said, and +straightway began, placing the eggs in a pile midway between himself +and his companion. "Twenty-eight. She was a enterprisin' hen." + +"I'll match for 'em," said Brevoort, hitching round and facing Pete. + +"I'll go you!" And straightway Brevoort and Pete became absorbed in +the game, seemingly oblivious to the Mexicans, who sat watching, with +open mouths, utterly absorbed in their childish interest. Two Gringoes +were gambling for bad eggs. + +Pete won for a while. Then he began to lose. "They're ripe all right. +I can tell by the color. Plumb ready to bust. The Cholas sabe that. +Watch 'em grin. They 're waitin' for one of us to bust a egg. That'll +be a big joke, and they'll 'most die a-laughin'--'cause it's a +joke--and 'cause we're Gringoes." + +"Then here's where I bust one," said Brevoort. "Get a couple in your +hand. Act like you was chokin' to death. I'll laugh. Then I'll kind +of get the smell of that lame egg and stand up quick. Ready?" + +"Shoot," said Pete. + +Brevoort tossed an egg on the pile. Several of the eggs broke with a +faint "plop." Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed such +utter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance of +the age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act his +part. He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even as +Brevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were not +altogether innocent. The two Mexicans had risen to their knees and +rocked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes. +Plop!--Plop!--Plop! and three of the four eggs targeted an accurate +twelve o'clock. Pete leaped and kicked viciously. His high heel +caught one choking Mexican in the jaw just as Brevoort jumped and swung +the single-tree. Pete grabbed up his belt and gun. + +Brevoort had no need to strike again. + +"You go see if the horses are saddled. I'll watch the door," said +Brevoort. + +Arguilla was awakened from a heavy sleep by the sound of a shot and the +shrill yelp of one of his men. A soldier entered and saluted. "The +Americans have gone," he reported. + +Arguilla's bloated face went from red to purple, and he reached for his +gun which lay on the chair near his bed. But the lieutenant who had +reported the escape faced his chief fearlessly. + +Arguilla hesitated. "Who guarded them?" he asked hoarsely. + +The lieutenant named the men. + +"Take them out and shoot them--at once." + +"But, Senor Comandante, they may not stand. The Americans have beaten +them so that they are as dead." + +"Then shoot them where they lay--which will be easier to do." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +QUERY + +Far out across the starlit gloom the two thoroughbreds raced side by +side. They seemed to know what was required of them. A mile, two +miles, three miles, and the night-fire of Arguilla's men was a +flickering dot against the black wall of the night. + +Brevoort pulled his horse to a walk. "We done left 'em looking at each +other," he drawled. + +"Two of 'em ain't," said Pete succinctly. + +Brevoort chuckled. "I was tryin' that hard not to laugh when you +smelled them aigs, that I come nigh missin' my chanct. You sure are +some play-actor." + +"Play-actor nothin'! I was doggone near sick. I kin smell 'em yet. +Say, I'd like to know what'll happen to them two Cholas." + +"Ain't you satisfied with what we done to 'em?" + +"Yep. But Arguilla won't be. I'd hate to be in their boots--" From +the south came the faint, sinister "pop! pop!" of rifle shots. Pete +turned quickly toward his companion. "Right now," he concluded, +shrugging his shoulders. + +"We got trouble of our own," said Brevoort. "Brent tried to run his +iron on us--but he got hold of the wrong iron. Now the deal will have +to go through like The Spider figured. Mebby Brent knows that +Arguilla's men are at the Ortez--and mebby he don't. But we don't say. +We ride in and repo't that Ortez says O.K.--that his vaqueros are +comin' for the cattle and that he is comin' with the cash. Brent won't +bat an eye. I know him. He'll jest tell you to take the dough and +ride to Sanborn and take the train for El Paso. Then he'll vamose." + +"How's that?" + +"'Cause he knows that this is the finish. When he was handlin' stock +from south of the line,--in small bunches, and pushin' it through +fast,--we was all right. The Mexican punchers was doin' the stealin', +sellin' the stuff to Brent. And Brent was sellin' to Arguilla's +agent--which is Ortez. All Ortez did was pay for it and turn it over +to Arguilla. Mexicans was stealin' from Mexicans and sellin' to Brent +cheap, 'cause he paid cash, and Brent was sellin' it to Mexicans. The +fellas that stole the stuff knew better 'n to try to sell to Arguilla. +All they would 'a' got would 'a' been a promise. So they sells to +Brent, who bought mighty cheap, but paid real money. That worked fine. +But when Brent starts stealin' from white men on his side of the +line--why, he knows that it is the finish--so he figures on a big +haul--or The Spider does--kind of takes them ranchers up north by +surprise and gets away with a couple of hundred head. But he knows, as +sure's he's a foot high, that they'll trail him--so he forgets that The +Spider said you was to collect from Ortez and bank the dough--and +figures on collectin' it himself." + +"Kind of a cold deal, eh, Ed?" + +"All crooked deals is cold." + +"But I wonder why Brent didn't send me down to the Ortez alone. What +did he ring you in for?" + +"Brent figured that I'd get wise to his scheme. You see, the +understandin' with The Spider is, that I'm fo'man of the Olla, case +Brent gets bumped off. Mebby The Spider thinks I'm square. Mebby he +jest plays me against Brent to keep us watchin' each other. I dunno." + +"You figure Arguilla will send old man Ortez over the line with the +cash?" + +"Yes. He will now. We done spoiled his game by gittin' loose. But I +don't say that Arguilla won't try to raid the Olla and get that money +back, after he's got the cattle movin' south. You see the +high-steppers that are backin' Arguilla ain't trustin' him with a whole +lot of cash, personal. 'Course, what he loots is his. But their money +is goin' for grub and ammunition. They figure if he gets enough cash, +he'll quit. And they don't want him to quit. He thinks he's the big +smoke--but all he is is hired man to big money." + +"He's been played, right along--same as us, eh?" + +"Same as us." + +"Well, Ed, I don't mind takin' a long chanct--but I sure don't aim to +let any man make a monkey of me." + +"Then you want to quit this game," said Brevoort. "Why don't you kind +of change hosses and take a fresh start? You ain't been in the game so +long but what you can pull out." + +"I was thinkin' of that. But what's a fella goin' to do? Here we be, +ridin' straight for the Olla. Right soon the sun'll be shinin' and the +hosses millin' round in the corral and gittin' warmed up, and Brent'll +be tellin' us he can use us helpin' push them cattle through to the +south end: and I reckon we'll change our saddles and git right to work, +thinkin' all the time of quittin', but keepin' along with the job jest +the same. A fella kind of hates to quit any job till it's done. And I +figure this here deal ain't even started to make trouble--yet. Wait +till the T-Bar-T outfit gits a-goin'; and mebby the Concho, and the +Blue Range boys." + +"Hand over your canteen a minute," said Brevoort. "I lost mine in the +get-away." + +Dawn found them inside the south line fence. In an hour they were at +the 'dobe and clamoring for breakfast. The cook told them that Brent +was at the north line camp, and had left no word for them. + +Brevoort glanced quickly at Pete. Evidently Brent had not expected +them to return so soon, if at all. + +After breakfast they sauntered to the bunk-house, and pulled off their +boots and lay down. + +It was about noon when the cook called them. "The bunch is back," he +said. "Harper just rode in. He says the old man is sore about +somethin'." + +"The Spider?" queried Brevoort. + +"Nope, Sam." + +"Goin' to ride over?" asked Pete, after the cook had left. + +"No. But I'm goin' to throw a saddle on one of the never-sweats and +I'm goin' to pick a good one." + +"I reckon Blue Smoke'll do for me. You goin' to pull your freight, Ed?" + +"We got our runnin' orders. The minute old man Ortez hands over that +cash, there'll be a hole in the scenery where we was." + +"That's my idee. But suppose we make it through to El Paso all right. +What do we do next?" + +"That's kind of like jumpin' off the aidge of the Grand Canon and +askin' yourself what you're goin' to do while you're in the air. We +ain't lit yet." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +BRENT'S MISTAKE + +Following the trail that Brevoort and Pete had taken from the Ortez +rancho, Arguilla and his men rode north and with them rode Ortez and +several of his vaqueros. Within a few miles of the Olla the ragged +soldiery swung west to the shelter of the low hills that ran parallel +to the Olla line, while Ortez and his men rode directly to the Olla +fence and entered a coulee near the big gate, where they waited the +arrival of Brent and the herd. + +About two hours before sundown one of Arguilla's lieutenants appeared +on the edge of the coulee where he could overlook the country. At his +signal the soldiers were to join the Ortez riders, but not until Brent +and his men had the cattle delivered. + +Arguilla, who was to keep out of sight, had told Ortez to pay the +amount stipulated by Brent--and at the old established rate of twenty +dollars a head--which meant that upon receipt of the cattle Ortez would +give the foreman of the Olla four thousand dollars in gold. Ortez knew +that Arguilla contemplated killing Brent and his men and recovering the +money. Although his sympathies were with his own people, Ortez felt +that such treachery was too black, even for a leader of guerillas. + +He realized that the first word of warning to Brent would mean his own +doom and the death of his men in the battle which would follow, for he +knew the Gringo cowboys would fight to the last man. Against this he +weighed the probability of a fight if he did not speak. In either +event he would be dishonored in the eyes of the powers who had trusted +him with handling the finances of the cause. It was in this state of +mind that he waited for the arrival of the men whom he considered +doomed, never imagining for a moment that Brent himself anticipated +treachery. + +The sun had almost touched the western sky-line when a solitary rider +spurred out from the great gate of the Olla and up to Ortez, who +recognized in him one of the young vaqueros that had escaped from +Arguilla's guards the preceding night. + +"Here's our tally." Pete handed Ortez a slip of paper. "Two hundred +and three head. My patron says to call it two hundred even, and to +give you a receipt for the money when you turn it over to me." + +Arguilla's lieutenant had expected to see the herd turned over to Ortez +before the payment of any moneys. He hesitated as to whether or not he +should ride to the rim of the coulee and signal his company to +interfere with the transaction then and there in the name of his +superior officer. The lieutenant did not believe that Ortez would turn +over the money for a mere slip of paper. But Ortez, strangely enough, +seemed only too eager to close the transaction. Stepping to his horse, +he took two small canvas sacks from his saddle-pockets. Still the +lieutenant hesitated. He had had no instructions covering such a +contingency. + +"I await your receipt, senor," said Ortez as he handed the money to +Pete. + +Pete drew a folded slip of paper from his pocket and gave it quickly to +Ortez. "Brent'll push the cattle through muy pronto." And whirling +his horse round under spur, he was halfway back to the Olla gate before +the lieutenant thought of signaling to Arguilla. + +From the vantage of the higher ground the lieutenant could see that the +gate was already open--that the Gringos were slowly pushing the cattle +through, and out to the desert. He waved his serape. Almost on the +instant Arguilla's men appeared in the distance, quirting their ponies +as they raced toward the coulee. The lieutenant turned and gazed at +the herd, which, from bunching through the gateway, had spread out +fanwise. Already the Ortez vaqueros were riding out to take charge. +But something was happening over near the Olla gate. The American +cowboys had scattered and were riding hard, and behind them faint +flashes cut the dusk and answering flashes came from those who fled. +The lieutenant shouted and spread his arms, signaling Arguilla to stop +as he and his men swung round the mouth of the coulee below. Some +thirty riders from the T-Bar-T, the Blue Range, and the Concho swept +through the gateway and began shooting at the Ortez vaqueros. Arguilla +saw that his own plan had gone glimmering. Ortez had in some way +played the traitor. Moreover, they were all on American territory. +The herd had stampeded and scattered. In the fading light Arguilla saw +one after another of the Ortez vaqueros go down. Did this noble +captain of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity rush to the rescue of his +countrymen? He did not. Cursing, he swung his horse toward the south, +followed by his amazed and altogether uncomprehending soldiery. There +had been too many Gringoes in that wild, shrilling cavalcade to suit +his fancy. Meanwhile the Mexican lieutenant wisely disappeared down +the western edge of the coulee and rode wide until he deemed it safe to +change his course and follow in the dusty wake of his noble leader's +"strategic retreat." + +Only one of the Ortez riders escaped the sudden and furious visitation +of the northern cattlemen, and he escaped because his horse, mortally +wounded, had fallen upon him. In the succeeding darkness he was passed +unnoticed by the returning Americans. + +The Olla men, also taken by surprise, had acted quickly. Better +mounted than most of their pursuers, who rode tired horses, the Olla +riders spread at the first warning shout. Familiar with the country, +they were able to get away unscathed, partly because the attention of +the pursuers was centered chiefly on the herd. + +It had been a case of each man for himself with the Olla riders, the +exceptions to this being Brevoort and Pete, who had ridden together +from the moment that Pete had shouted that sudden warning to his +companions at the gateway, where they had sat their horses waiting for +him to return from his mission to Ortez. Brent himself had posted a +lookout at the northern gateway of the ranch, with instructions to +watch for any possible pursuit. This cowboy, wise in his generation, +had caught sight of a large body of riders bearing down from the north. +He knew by the way they rode that they meant business. He knew also +that they were too many for the Olla men. He focused his glass on +them, got one good look, and calmly turned his horse and rode along the +line fence to an arroyo, where he dismounted and waited until the +visiting gentlemen had got well onto the Olla territory. Then he +mounted and took his leisurely way toward space. He knew that the +Olla, as a safe and paying proposition, had ceased to exist. + +Brent, mounted on one of the thoroughbreds, lost no time in heading for +Sanborn and the railroad, once he had ridden clear of the running +skirmish with the northerners. He surmised that Pete and Brevoort +would make for Sanborn--and they had The Spider's money. Brent also +knew that he had a faster horse than either of them. If he could reach +Sanborn ahead of them, he would have the advantage of cover--and of +taking them by surprise . . . + +The country was fairly open from the eastern boundary of the Olla to +within a few miles of Sanborn, where a veritable forest of cacti had +sprung up--one of those peculiar patches of desert growth, outlined in +a huge square as definitely as though it had been planted by man. The +wagon-road passed close to the northern edge of this freakish forest, +and having passed, swung off toward the railroad, which it finally +paralleled. It was in this vantage-ground of heavy shadow that Brent +had planned to waylay Brevoort and Pete. To avoid chance discovery, +Brent had ridden considerably out of his way to keep clear of the +regular trail from the Olla to Sanborn, and had lost more time than he +realized. Brevoort, on the contrary, had taken the regular trail, +which joined the main wagon-road. + +Pete and Brevoort rode easily, as the local made the Sanborn stop at +six in the morning. Moreover, they did not care to spend any great +length of time in Sanborn. They had planned to leave their horses at +the livery stable--to be called for later. + +At first they talked of the raid, the probable fate of Ortez and his +men, and of Arguilla's flight. And from that they came to considering +their own plans which, if successful, would find them in El Paso with +several thousand dollars which belonged in reality to Arguilla's +backers. There was an unvoiced but evident understanding between them +that they would keep together so long as safety permitted. Pete had +made up his mind to look for work on some southern ranch--and have done +with the high trails of outlawry. Brevoort, falling into his mood, as +much because he liked Pete as anything else, had decided to "throw in" +with him. Had Pete suggested robbing a bank, or holding up a train, +the big, easy-going Texan would have fallen in with the suggestion +quite as readily, not because Pete had any special influence over him, +but purely because Pete's sprightliness amused and interested him. +Moreover, Pete was a partner that could be depended upon in fair +weather or foul. + +Their plan once made, they became silent, each busy with his own more +intimate thoughts: Brevoort wondering what Pete would say if he were to +suggest dividing the money and making for the coast and Alaska--and +Pete endeavoring to reconcile himself to the idea that The Spider was +actually Boca's father. For Pete had been thinking of Boca, even while +he had been talking with Brevoort. It seemed that he always thought of +her just before some hidden danger threatened. He had been thinking of +her--even aside from her presence in the patio--that night when the +posse had entered Showdown. He had thought of her while riding to the +Ortez rancho--and now he was thinking of her again . . . He raised his +head and glanced around. The starlit desert was as soundless as the +very sky itself. The soft creak of the saddles, the breathing of the +horses, the sand-muffled sound of their feet . . . Directly ahead +loomed a wall of darkness. Pete touched Brevoort's arm and gestured +toward it. + +"They call it the Devil's Graveyard," said Brevoort. "A sizable bunch +of cactus alongside the road. We're closer to Sanborn than I figured." + +"Well, we can't go any slower 'less we git off and set down," Pete +remarked. "Blue Smoke here is fightin' the bit. He ain't no graveyard +hoss." + +"I notice he's been actin' nervous--and only jest recent." + +"He always runs his fool head off--if I let him," asserted Pete. And +he fell silent, thinking of Boca and the strange tricks that Fate plays +on the righteous and wicked alike. He was startled out of his reverie +by Brevoort. "Mebby I'm dreamin'," whispered the Texan, "but I'm plumb +certain I seen somethin' drift into that cactus-patch." + +"Cattle," said Pete. + +"No. No cattle in these parts." + +"Stray--mebby." + +"I dunno. Jest sit light in your saddle and watch your hoss's ears. +He'll tell you right quick if there's another hoss in there." + +Pete knew that the Texan would not have spoken without some pertinent +reason. They were drawing close to the deeper shadow of the cacti, +which loomed strangely ominous in the faint light of the stars. +Brevoort's horse, being the faster walker, was a little ahead and +seemingly unconscious of anything unusual in the shadows, when Blue +Smoke, range-bred and alert, suddenly stopped. + +"Put 'em up--quick!" came from the shadows. + +Pete's hand dropped to his holster, but before he could jerk out his +gun, Brevoort had fired at the sound--once, twice, three times . . . +Pete heard the trampling of a frightened horse somewhere in the brush. + +"I got him," Brevoort was saying. + +Pete's face was cold with sweat. "Are you hit, Ed?" he said. + +"No, he missed me. He was right quick, but I had him lined against +that openin' there before he said a word. If he'd 'a' stood back and +kept still he could have plugged us when we rode past. He was too sure +of his game." + +"Who was it, Ed?" + +"I got one guess. We got the money. And he got what was comin' to +him." Brevoort swung down and struck a match. "I owed you that, +Brent," he said as the match flared up and went out. + +"Brent!" exclaimed Pete. + +Brevoort mounted and they rode on past the sinister place, in the chill +silence of reaction from the tense and sudden moment when death had +spoken to them from the shadows where now was silence and that +voiceless thing that had once been a man. "Got to kill to live!" Pete +shivered as they swung from the shadows and rode out across the open, +and on down the dim, meandering road that led toward the faint, +greenish light glimmering above the desert station of Sanborn. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +FUGITIVE + +Rodeo, Hachita, Monument--long hours between each town as the local did +its variable thirty-five miles an hour across the southern end of New +Mexico. It was Pete's first experience in traveling by rail, and true +to himself he made the most of it. He used his eyes, and came to the +conclusion that they were aboard a very fast train--a train that "would +sure give a thoroughbred the run of its life"--Pete's standard of speed +being altogether of the saddle--and that more people got on and off +that train than could possibly have homes in that vast and uninhabited +region. The conductor was an exceedingly popular individual. Every +one called him by his "front name," which he acknowledged pleasantly in +like manner. Pete wondered if the uniformed gentleman packed a gun; +and was somewhat disappointed when he discovered that that protuberance +beneath the conductor's brass-buttoned coat was nothing more deadly +than a leather wallet, pretty well filled with bills and loose +silver--for that isolated railroad did a good cash business and +discriminating conductors grew unobtrusively wealthy. And what was +still more strange to Pete was the fact that the conductor seemed to +know where each person was going, without having to refer to any +penciled notation or other evident data. + +The conductor was surprisingly genial, even to strangers, for, having +announced that the next station was El Paso, he took the end seat of +the combination baggage and smoking car, spread out his report sheet, +and as he sorted and arranged the canceled tickets, he chatted with +Pete and Brevoort, who sat facing him. Had they heard the news? +Brevoort shook his head. Well, there had been a big fight down along +the line, between the northern cattlemen and Arguilla's soldiers. It +was rumored that several American cowboys had been killed. He had +heard this from the agent at Hermanas, who had "listened in" on the +wire to El Paso. Perhaps they had heard about it, though, as they had +come up from that way. No? Well, the El Paso papers already had the +news, by wire. How was the cattle business going, anyway? + +Brevoort said that it was pretty fair. + +The conductor knew of a nice little hotel near the station--in fact he +stopped there himself. El Paso was the end of his run. If the boys +were going to see the town, they couldn't do better than to stop at +this hotel. Clean beds, good food, quiet, and reasonable as to rates. + +Pete was about to say something when Brevoort touched him gently with +his knee. + +"We was lookin' for a place like that," said Brevoort, suddenly +loquacious. "We sure aim to see this town. We just been paid off--we +was workin' for the Bar-Cross--and we figured on seein' a little high +life a-fore we went to punchin' again. Is that hotel you was speakin' +about open all night?" + +The conductor chuckled. "Ain't been closed a minute for six years that +I know. Mostly railroad men. And say, if you figure on being in town +more than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room by +the week." + +"Thanks," said Brevoort. "We aim to stay a week, anyhow." + +"Well, they'll use you all right," asserted the conductor. "And if +you're looking for a place to buy anything--clothes or collars or +shirts--why, right across from the hotel there's as fine a little +clothing-store as you can find in town. The man that runs is a friend +of mine, and he'll use you white. Just tell him I sent you. Stokes is +his name--Len Stokes." + +"Thanks, neighbor," said Brevoort, and Pete thought that Brevoort's +tone was the least bit sarcastic. + +"That's all right," said the genial conductor. "I always like to see +the boys have a good time." + +Pete himself was a trifle suspicious of the conductor's solicitude as +to their welfare, naturally unaware that that worthy official got a +rake-off on all customers mentioning his name at the hotel and +clothing-store. + +He gathered up his reports and tickets, snapped a rubber band round +them, and dropped them in his capacious pocket. "We're eight minutes +late," he remarked, glancing at his watch. "Now what--" He rose and +made for the end door as the train slowed up and stopped at an isolated +siding. Pete glanced out and saw a little red box of a building, four +or five empty freight cars, and a curve of rail that swung off south +from the main line. No passengers got on or off the train, but Pete +noticed that the conductor was talking earnestly with a hollow-cheeked, +blue-overalled man who had just handed him a slip of paper. + +The conductor waved his arm. The train pulled out. A little later he +came and took his seat opposite Pete. Conductor Stokes seemed even +more genial than ever, elaborating on the opportunities for "a good +time" in El Paso, and reiterating the hope that they would make +themselves at home at his hotel. He joked and talked familiarly about +the more notorious sections of the town, warned them to be on the +lookout for thugs, and finally excused himself and entered the baggage +compartment. + +Pete saw Brevoort lean forward and hastily snatch up a crumpled slip of +paper which had dropped from the conductor's pocket as he got up. +Brevoort scanned the paper, crumpled it, and tossed it out in the aisle. + +"We didn't see that," he told Pete. + +"What was it?" + +"Forget it," said Brevoort, as the door opened and the conductor, +glancing about, finally saw and recovered the service wire. "Running +orders," he said, as he stuffed it in his pocket and moved on down the +aisle. Pete gazed out of the window, apparently absorbed in looking at +the desert. Brevoort rolled a cigarette, and nodded casually. + +The door in the far end of the car slammed. Brevoort turned to Pete. +"Look straight ahead and--listen. That paper you saw was a telegraph +from the agent at Sanborn sayin' a man had been found shot, and to +watch out for two cow-punchers that bought tickets for El Paso--which +is us. That's how we came to stop at the junction back there, which +ain't a regular stop. It means there'll be a marshal waitin' for us at +El Paso." + +"Then let's git off this doggone thing," suggested Pete. + +"She stops onct before we git in," said Brevoort. "It's gittin' +dark--and we got one chanct. When she slows down, we go into the +baggage-car there and tell the boss we're lookin' for our war-bag, +which we didn't have. Jest about the time she stops, we drop off. The +side door's open." + +"We'll be plumb afoot," said Pete. + +"Yes. And we'll have to hole up somewhere till we git some +store-clothes--and change our looks--and mebby our luck, which is +runnin' bad right now." + +"Do we split up when we hit town?" queried Pete. + +"We got to: and you want to git rid of that there cash just as quick as +you kin. Got any of your own money on you?" + +"Got a couple of month's pay. You got the tickets. I'll give you +that." + +"Forget it! Small change don't count right now. Awhile back I was +thinkin' of puttin' it up to you that we split the big money and take a +little pasear up to Alaska, where it ain't so warm. The Spider dassent +squeal to the law, bein' in bad hisself. We could sure make a get-away +with it. But that there telegraph done settled that deal." + +"It was settled afore that, Ed." + +"Meanin' you wouldn't split, anyhow?" + +"That's what." + +"But it's crooked money, Pete. And it ain't lucky. Supposin' we get +caught? Who gits the money? The Spider, or Arguilla's bunch, or you +or me? Not on your life! The cops get it--and keep it." + +"That's all right. But if I git through, these here pesos goes to that +bank. Anyhow, you said it ain't lucky money. So I aim to git away +from it pronto. Then I'm square with The Spider--and I quit." + +"You can't shake the game that easy, Pete. I quit when we started for +Sanborn--and what did we run into? And you bein' with me gits you in +bad, likewise." + +"If that's what's botherin' you, why, I'll take the chanct, and stick," +said Pete. + +"Nope. Right now I'm lookin' out for myself, and nobody else. If they +kin hang that last deal onto me--and you know what I mean--why, your +Uncle Ed'll sure have to take the long trail. And I aim to keep +a-ridin' in the sun for a spell yet. We're gittin' clost to town. +Mebby we can drop off easy and sift out of sight without any fuss. +Then we got a chanct to change our clothes and git rid of that dough. +They'll be lightin' the lamps right soon. Them saddle-bags buckled?" + +"They sure are." + +"All right. When you hear 'em whistle for the crossin' jest stand up +and drop 'em out of the window. Nobody kin see you from behind. Then +we mosey into the baggage-car and tell the agent in there we're lookin' +for our war-bag. Bein' express messenger, he packs a gun. You want to +step lively for that side door." + +"I git you, Ed. What's all them lights out there?" + +"That's the town. She's jest whistlin' for the crossin'. Dump your +freight--easy, like you was lookin' out at the scenery. That's her. +Now, stretch your arms and kind of look round. The conductor is out on +the back platform. Come on!" + +The express messenger was leaning from the side door in the act of +swinging a parcel to the local agent at the Grossing, when Brevoort and +Pete entered. With his back toward them and absorbed in launching the +package he did not see them as they angled quickly to the other door +and dropped off into the night. The train slowed almost to a stop, the +grinding brakes eased, and it drew away, leaving Pete and Brevoort +squatting behind a row of empty oil barrels along the track. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +EL PASO + +As the tail-lights of the train disappeared, Pete and Brevoort rose and +walked down the track several hundred yards. Pete was certain that +they had retraced too far, but Brevoort assured him that he knew about +where to look for the saddle-bags. "I noticed that we passed a pile of +new ties, jest after you dropped 'em," said the Texan. + +Pete insisted that they had come too far until they almost walked into +the ties. They searched about in the darkness, feeling along the +ground with their feet, until finally Brevoort stumbled over the +saddle-bags at the bottom of the ditch along the right-of-way. He +picked them up. Pete was still rummaging around as Brevoort +straightened. For an instant the Texan was tempted to keep up the +pretense of searching and so drift farther from Pete, until under cover +of darkness he could decamp with the money--across the border and make +a fresh start with it--as he told himself, "something to start on." + +But suddenly, and most absurdly alien to his present mood, came the +vivid recollection of Pete's face when he had smelled those +unforgettable eggs in the box-stall of the Ortez stables. Why this +should have changed Brevoort's hasty inclination is explainable, +perhaps, through that strange transition from the serious to the +humorous; that quick relief from nervous tension that allows a man to +readjust himself toward the universe. Brevoort cursed softly to +himself as he strode to Pete. "Here they are. Found them back there a +piece. Now we got to foot it acrost this end of the town and drift +wide of the white-lights. Down to the south end we kin get somethin' +to eat, and some new clothes. Them Jew stores is open late." + +Following the river road they skirted the town until opposite the +Mexican quarter, where, Brevoort explained, they would be comparatively +safe, so long as they attended to their own business. + +Pete was amazed by the lights and the clamor--a stringed orchestra +playing in this open front, and a hot-dog vender declaiming in this +open front; a moving-picture entrance brilliantly illuminated, and a +constant movement of folk up and down the streets in free-and-easy +fashion, and he almost forgot the cumulative hazards of their +companionship in experiencing his first plunge into city life. +Brevoort, who knew the town, made for a Mexican lodging-house, where +they took a room above the noisy saloon, washed, and after downing a +drink of vile whiskey, crossed the street to a dingy restaurant. Later +they purchased some inconspicuous "town-clothes" which they carried +back to their room. + +Pete was for staying right where they were until morning, but Brevoort, +naturally restless, suggested that they go to a moving-picture theater. +They changed their clothes. Pete felt decidedly uncomfortable in the +coat, and was only persuaded to wear it when Brevoort pointed out that +it was a case of either leave their guns in the room or wear something +to cover them. Then came the question of what they were to do with the +money. Pete was for taking it along with them, but Brevoort vetoed the +suggestion. "It's as safe here as in a bank," he said, and taking the +two sacks from the saddle-pockets he lowered each one gently into the +big water-pitcher. "Nothin' in there but water, which don't interest a +Chola nohow. But I'll cinch it." Which he did downstairs, as he drew +a handful of gold pieces from his pocket, counted them carefully, and +left something like fifty dollars with the proprietor, asking him to +take care of the money for them, as they did not want to get "plumb +broke" the first night in town. The Mexican grinned understandingly. +He was familiar with the ways of cowboys. Their money would be safe +with him. + +Outside Pete asked Brevoort if he had not "jest about made a present of +fifty to that Mex." + +"Not any. He figures he'll get his share of it when we git to hittin' +the high-spots--which we don't aim to hit, this journey. That Mexican +sure thinks he's got all the money we own except what's on us right +now. So he won't ever think of goin' through our stuff upstairs. That +fifty was insurance on the big money. Let's go where we kin git a real +drink--and then we'll have a look at a show." + +The "real drink" was followed by another. When Brevoort suggested a +third, Pete shook his head. "It's all right, if you want to hit it, +Ed--but it's takin' a big chanct. Somethin' might slip. 'T ain't the +drinkin'--but it's the drinkin' right now." + +"Reckon you 're right," concurred Brevoort. "But I ain't had a drink +for so long--let's go see that show." + +They crowded into a cheap and odoriferous nickel theater, and +straightway Pete forgot where he was and all about who he was in +watching the amazing offerings of the screen. The comedy feature +puzzled him. He thought that he was expected to laugh--folks all round +him were laughing--but the unreality of the performance left him +staring curiously at the final tangle of a comedy which struggled to be +funny to the bitter end. His attention was keen for the next picture, +a Western drama, entitled "The Battle of the Border," which ran swiftly +to lurid climax after climax, until even Pete's unsophisticated mind +doubted that any hero could have the astounding ability to get out of +tight places as did the cowboy hero of this picture. This sprightly +adventurer had just killed a carload of Mexicans, leaped from the roof +of an adobe to his horse, and made off into the hills--they were real +hills of the desert country, sure enough--as buoyantly as though he had +just received his pay-check and was in great haste to spend it, never +once glancing back, and putting his horse up grades at a pace that +would have made an old-timer ashamed of himself had he to ride sixty +miles to the next ranch before sundown--as the lead on the picture +stated. Still, Pete liked that picture. He knew that kind of +country--when suddenly he became aware of the tightly packed room, the +foul air laden with the fumes of humanity, stale whiskey, and tobacco, +the shuffling of feet as people rose and stumbled through the darkness +toward the street. Pete thought that was the end of the show, but as +Brevoort made no move to go, he fixed his attention on the screen +again. Immediately another scene jumped into the flickering square. +Pete stiffened. Before him spread a wide canon. A tiny rider was +coming down the trail from the rim. At the bottom was a Mexican 'dobe, +a ramshackle stable and corral. And there hung the Olla beneath an +acacia. A saddle lay near the corral bars. Several horses moved about +lazily . . . The hero of the recent gun-fight was riding into the yard +. . . Some one was coming from the 'dobe. Pete almost gasped as a +Mexican girl, young, lithe, and smiling, stepped into the foreground +and held out her hands as the hero swung from his horse. The girl was +taller and more slender than Boca--yet in the close-up which followed, +while her lover told her of the tribulations he had recently +experienced, the girl's face was the face of Boca--the same sweetly +curved and smiling mouth, the large dark eyes, even the manner in which +her hair was arranged . . . + +Pete nudged Brevoort. "I reckon we better drift," he whispered. + +"How's that, Pete?" + +"The girl there in the picture. Mebby you think I'm loco, but there's +somethin' always happens every time I see her." + +"You got a hunch, eh?" + +"I sure got one." + +"Then we play it." And Brevoort rose. They blinked their way to the +entrance, pushed through the crowd at the doorway, and started toward +their room. "I didn't want to say anything in there," Brevoort +explained. "You can't tell who's sittin' behind you. But what was you +gettin' at, anyhow?" + +"You recollect my tellin' you about that trouble at Showdown? And the +girl was my friend? Well, I never said nothin' to you about it, but I +git to thinkin' of her and I can kind of see her face like she was +tryin' to tell me somethin', every doggone time somethin's goin' to go +wrong. First off, I said to myself I was loco and it only happened +that way. But the second time--which was when we rode to the Ortez +ranch--I seen her again. Then when we was driftin' along by that +cactus over to Sanborn I come right clost to tellin' you that I seen +her--not like I kin see you, but kind of inside--and I knowed that +somethin' was a-comin' wrong. Then, first thing I know--and I sure +wasn't thinkin' of her nohow--there is her face in that picture. I +tell you, Ed, figuring out your trail is all right, and sure wise--but +I'm gettin' so I feel like playin' a hunch every time." + +"Well, a drink will fix you up. Then we'll mosey over to the room. +Our stuff'll be there all right." + +"'T ain't the money I'm thinkin' about. It's you and me." + +"Forget it!" Brevoort slapped Pete on the shoulder. "Come on in here +and have something." + +"I'll go you one more--and then I quit," said Pete. For Pete began to +realize that Brevoort's manner was slowly changing. Outwardly he was +the same slow-speaking Texan, but his voice had taken on a curious +inflection of recklessness which Pete attributed to the few but +generous drinks of whiskey the Texan had taken. And Pete knew what +whiskey could do to a man. He had learned enough about that when with +the horse-trader. Moreover, Pete considered it a sort of weakness--to +indulge in liquor when either in danger or about to face it. He had no +moral scruples whatever. He simply viewed it from a utilitarian angle. +A man with the fine edge of his wits benumbed by whiskey was apt to +blunder. And Pete knew only to well that they would have need for all +of their wits and caution to get safely out of El Paso. And to blunder +now meant perhaps a fight with the police--for Pete knew that Brevoort +would never suffer arrest without making a fight--imprisonment, and +perhaps hanging. He knew little of Brevoort's past record, but he knew +that his own would bulk big against him. Brevoort had taken another +drink after they had tacitly agreed to quit. Brevoort was the older +man, and Pete had rather relied on his judgment. Now he felt that +Brevoort's companionship would eventually become a menace to their +safety. + +"Let's get back to the room, Ed," he suggested as they came out of the +saloon. + +"Hell, we ain't seen one end of the town yet." + +"I'm goin' back," declared Pete. + +"Got another hunch?"--and Brevoort laughed. + +"Nope. I'm jest figurin' this cold. A good gambler don't drink when +be's playin'. And we're sure gamblin'--big." + +"Reckon you're right, pardner. Well, we ain't far from our blankets. +Come on." + +The proprietor of the rooming-house was surprised to see them return so +soon and so unauspiciously. He counted out Brevoort's money and gave +it back to him. + +"Which calls for a round before we hit the hay," said Brevoort. + +The room upstairs was hot and stuffy. Brevoort raised the window, +rolled a cigarette and smoked, gazing down on the street, which had +become noisier toward midnight. Pete emptied the pitcher and stowed +the wet sacks of gold in his saddle-pockets. + +"Told you everything was all right," said Brevoort, turning to watch +Pete as he placed the saddlebags at the head of the bed. + +"All right, so far," concurred Pete. + +"Say, pardner, you losin' your nerve? You act so dam' serious. Hell, +we ain't dead yet!" + +"No, I ain't losin' my nerve. But I'm tellin' you I been plumb scared +ever since I seen that picture. I don't feel right, Ed." + +"I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning toward +the window. + +Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face was +tense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of +the window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he began +slowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing we +kin do is to get out of this town quick. We got to split--no way round +that. We're all right so far, but by to-morrow they'll be watchin' +every train and every hotel, and doggin' every stranger to see what +he's doin'. What you want to do is to take them sacks, wrap 'em up in +paper, put ole E. H. Hodges's name on it--he's president of the +Stockmen's Security Bank here, and a ole pal of The Spider's--and pack +it over to the express company and git a receipt. _They'll_ sure git +that money to the bank. And then you want to fan it. If you jest was +to walk out of town, no'th, you could catch a train for Alamogordo, +mebby, and then git a hoss and work over toward the Organ Range, which +is sure open country--and cattle. You can't go back the way we +come--and they'll be watchin' the border south." + +"Where is that express outfit, anyhow?" + +"You know that street where we seen the show? Well, if you keep right +on you'll come to the Square and the express company is right on the +corner." + +"All right, Ed. But what you goin' to do?" + +"I'm goin' to git a soogun to-morrow mornin', roll my stuff and head +for the border, afoot. I'm a ranch-hand lookin' for work. I know +where I kin get acrost the river. Then I aim to hit for the dry spot, +bush out, and cross the line where they won't be lookin' for a man +afoot, nohow." + +"Why don't you git to movin' right now?" Brevoort smiled curiously. +"They's two reasons, pardner; one is that I don't want to git stood up +by a somebody wantin' to know where I'm goin' at night with my +war-bag--and I sure aim to take my chaps and boots and spurs and stuff +along, for I'm like to need 'em. Then you ain't out of town yet." + +"Which is why you're stickin' around." + +"If we only had a couple of hosses, Pete. It's sure hell bein' afoot, +ain't it?" + +"It sure is. Say, Ed, we got to split, anyhow. Why don't you git to +goin'? It ain't like you was quittin' me cold." + +"You're a mighty white kid, Pete. And I'm goin' to tell you right now +that you got a heap more sense and nerve than me, at any turn of the +game. You been goin' round to-night on cold nerve and I been travelin' +on whiskey. And I come so clost to gittin' drunk that I ain't sure I +ain't yet. It was liquor first started me ridin' the high trail." + +Brevoort had seated himself on the bed beside Pete. As the big Texan +rolled a cigarette, Pete saw that his hands trembled. For the first +time that evening Pete noticed that his companion was under a high +tension. He could hardly believe that Brevoort's nerve was really +shaken. + +The street below had grown quieter. From below came the sound of a +door being closed. Brevoort started, cursed, and glanced at Pete. +"Closin' up for the night," he said. Pete quickly shifted his gaze to +the open window. He did not want Brevoort to know that he had noticed +the start, or those hands that trembled. + +They rose early, had breakfast at the restaurant across the street, and +returned to the room, Brevoort with a sogun in which he rolled and +corded his effects and Pete with some brown paper in which he wrapped +the sacks of gold. Brevoort borrowed a pencil from the proprietor and +addressed the package. + +"But how's the bank goin' to know who it's from?" queried Pete, + +"That's right. I'll put The Spider's name here in the corner. Say, do +you know we're takin' a whole lot of trouble for a man that wouldn't +lift a hand to keep us from bein' sent up?" And Brevoort weighed the +package thoughtfully. "By rights we ought to hang onto this dough. We +earned it." + +"I sure don't want any of it, Ed. I'm through with this game." + +"I reckon you're right. Well, next off, you git it to that express +office. I'll wait till you git back." + +"What's the use of my comin' back, anyhow?" queried Pete. "We paid for +our room last night." + +"Ain't you goin' to take your stuff along? You can pack it same as +mine. Then when you git to a ranch you are hooked up to ride." + +"Guess you're right, Ed. Well, so-long." + +"See you later." + +Brevoort, who seemed to have recovered his nerve, added, "I aim to +light out jest as quick as you git back." + +Pete was so intent on his errand that he did not see Conductor Stokes, +who stood in the doorway of the El Paso House, talking to a man who had +a rowdy rolled under his arm, wore overalls, and carried a dinner-pail. +The conductor glanced sharply at Pete as he passed, then turned +abruptly, and stepped to a man who stood talking to the clerk at the +desk. + +"I jest saw one of 'em," said the conductor. "I never forget a face. +He was rigged out in town-clothes--but it was him--all right." + +"You sure, Len?" + +"Pretty darned sure." + +"Well, we can find out. You set down over there in the window and be +reading a paper. I'll go out and follow him. If he comes back this +way, you take a good look at him and give me the high sign if it's one +of 'em. And if it is, he'll be connectin' up with the other one, +sooner or later. I'll jest keep my eye on him, anyway. You say he had +on a dark suit and is dark-complexioned and young?" + +"Yes--that one. The other was bigger and taller and had light hair and +gray eyes. Both of 'em were in their range clothes on number three." + +"All right." And the plain-clothes man hastened out and up the street +until he had "spotted" Pete, just entering the doorway of the express +office. + +Pete came out presently, glanced about casually, and started back for +the room. Half a block behind him followed the plain-clothes man, who +glanced in as he passed the hotel. The conductor nodded. The +plain-clothes man hastened on down the street. He saw Pete turn a +corner several blocks south. When the detective arrived at the corner +Pete was just entering the door of the little clothing-store next to +the restaurant. Presently Pete came out and crossed to the saloon. +The detective sauntered down the opposite walk and entering the +restaurant telephoned to headquarters. Then he called for coffee and +sat watching the saloon across the way. + +Brevoort, who had been sitting on the bed gazing down at the street, +saw Pete turn the corner and enter the store. He also saw the +plain-clothes man enter the restaurant and thought nothing of it until +presently he saw another man enter the place. These two were talking +together at the table near the front window. Brevoort grew suspicious. +The latest arrival had not ordered anything to eat, nor had he greeted +the other as men do when they meet. And they did not seem quite the +type of men to dine in such a place. Pete, cording his belongings in +the new sogun, heard Brevoort muttering something, and turned his head. + +"I'm watchin' a couple of fellas acrost the street," explained +Brevoort. "Keep back out of sight a minute." + +Pete, on his knees, watched Brevoort's face. "Anything wrong, Ed?" he +queried presently. + +"I dunno. Jest step round behind me. Kin you see that eatin'-place?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you see either of them guys when you was out on the street?" + +"Why, no. Hold on a minute! That one with the gray clothes was +standin' on the corner by the express office when I come out. I +recollec' now. He was smokin' a cigar." + +"Yes. And he thrun it away when he went in there. I seen him at the +telephone there on the desk--and pretty soon along comes his friend. +Looks kind of queer that he was up at the Square when you was, and then +trails down here where we be." + +"You think mebby--" + +"I dunno. If it is we better drift out at the back afore any of 'em +gits round there." + +"And leave our stuff, eh?" + +"Yes. We got to move quick. They 're sizin' up this buildin' right +now. Don't show yourself. Wait! One of 'em is comin' out and he's +headed over here." + +Brevoort drew back, and stepping to the door opened it and strode +swiftly down the dim hall to a window at its farther end. Below the +window was a shed, and beyond the farther edge of the shed-roof was an +alley. He hastened back to the room and closed and locked the door. +"You loco?" he growled. Pete had drawn a chair to the window and was +sitting there, looking out as casually as though there was no danger +whatever. + +"I thought you made your get-away," said Pete, turning. "I was jest +keepin' that hombre interested in watchin' me. Thought if he seen +somebody here he wouldn't make no quick move to follow you." + +"So you figured I quit you, eh? And you go and set in that winda so +they'd think we was in the room here? And you done it to give me a +chanct? Well, you got me wrong. I stick." + +"Then I reckon somebody's goin' to git hurt," said Pete, "for I'm goin' +to stick too." + +Brevoort shook his head. "The first guy most like come over to ask the +boss who's up here in this room. The boss tells him about us. Now, +them coyotes sure would like it a heap better to git us out on the +street--from behind--than to run up against us holed up here, for they +figure somebody'll git hurt. Now you slip down that hall, easy, and +drop onto the shed under the winda and fan it down the alley back +there. You got a chanct. I sized up the layout." + +"Nothin' doin'. Why don't you try it yourself?" + +"'Cause they'll git one of us, anyhow, and it'll be the fella that +stays." + +"Then I'll flip a dollar to see which stays," said Pete. + +Before Brevoort could speak, Pete drew a dollar from his pocket and +flipped it toward his companion. It fell between them. "I say heads," +said Pete. And he glanced at the coin, which showed tails. "The +dollar says you go, Ed. You want to git a-movin'!" + +Brevoort hesitated; Pete rose and urged him toward the door. "So-long, +Ed. If you'd 'a' stayed we'd both got shot up. I'll set in the winda +so they'll think we 're both here." + +"I'll try her," said Brevoort. "But I'd 'a' stayed--only I knowed you +wouldn't go. So-long, pardner." He pulled his gun and softly unlocked +the door. There was no one in the hall--and no one on the narrow +stairway to the right. He tiptoed to the window, climbed out, and let +himself down to the shed-roof. From the roof he dropped to the alley, +glanced round, and then ran. + +Pete locked the door and went back to his chair in front of the window. +He watched the man in the restaurant, who had risen and waved his hand, +evidently acknowledging a signal from some one. It was the man Pete +had seen near the express office--there was no doubt about that. Pete +noticed that he was broad of shoulder, stocky, and wore a heavy gold +watch-chain. He disappeared within the doorway below. Presently Pete +heard some one coming up the uncarpeted stairway--some one who walked +with the tread of a heavy person endeavoring to go silently. A brief +interval in which Pete could hear his own heart thumping, and some one +else ascended the stairway. The boards in the hallway creaked. Some +one rapped on the door. + +"I guess this is the finish," said Pete to himself. Had he been +apprehended in the open, in a crowd on the street, he would not have +made a fight. He had told himself that. But to be run to earth this +way--trapped in a mean and squalid room, away from the sunlight and no +slightest chance to get away . . . He surmised that these men knew +that the men that they hunted would not hesitate to kill. Evidently +they did not know that Brevoort was gone. How could he hold them that +Brevoort might have more time? He hesitated. Should he speak, or keep +silent? + +He thought it better to answer the summons. "What do you want?" he +called. + +"We want to talk to your partner," said a voice. + +"He's sleepin'," called Pete. "He was out 'most all night." + +"Well, we'll talk with you then." + +"Go ahead. I'm listenin'." + +"Suppose you open the door." + +"And jest suppose I don't? My pardner ain't like to be friendly if +he's woke up sudden." + +Pete could hear the murmuring of voices as if in consultation. Then, +"All right. We'll come back later." + +"Who'll I say wants to see him?" asked Pete. + +"He'll know when he sees us. Old friends of his." + +Meanwhile Pete had risen and moved softly toward the door. Standing to +one side he listened. He heard footsteps along the hall--and the sound +of some one descending the stairs. "One of 'em has gone down. The +other is in the hall waitin'," he thought. "And both of 'em scared to +bust in that door." + +He tiptoed back to the window and glanced down. The heavy-shouldered +man had crossed the street and was again in the restaurant. Pete saw +him step to the telephone. Surmising that the other was telephoning +for reinforcements, Pete knew that he would have to act quickly, or +surrender. He was not afraid to risk being killed in a running fight. +He was willing to take that chance. But the thought of imprisonment +appalled him. To be shut from the sun and the space of the +range--perhaps for life--or to be sentenced to be hanged, powerless to +make any kind of a fight, without friends or money . . . He thought of +The Spider, of Boca, of Montoya, and of Pop Annersley; of Andy White +and Bailey. He wondered if Ed Brevoort had got clear of El Paso. He +knew that there was some one in the hall, waiting. To make a break for +liberty in that direction meant a killing, especially as Brevoort was +supposed to be in the room. "I'll keep 'em guessin'," he told himself, +and went back to his chair by the window. And if there was supposed to +be another man in the room, why not carry on the play--for the benefit +of the watcher across the street? Every minute would count for or +against Brevoort's escape. + +Thrusting aside all thought of his own precarious situation, Pete began +a brisk conversation with his supposed companion. "How does your head +feel?" he queried, leaning forward and addressing the empty bed. He +nodded as if concurring in the answer. + +Then, "Uh-huh! Well, you look it, all right!" + +"You don't want no breakfast? Well, I done had mine." + + .................... + +"What's the time? 'Bout ten. Goin' to git up?" + + .................... + +Pete gestured as he described an imaginative incident relative to his +supposed companion's behavior the preceding night. "Some folks been +here askin' for you." Pete shook his head as though he had been asked +who the callers were. He had turned sideways to the open window to +carry on this pantomimic dialogue. He glanced at the restaurant across +the street. The heavy-shouldered man had disappeared. Pete heard a +faint shuffling sound in the hall outside. Before he could turn the +door crashed inward. He leapt to his feet. With the leap his hand +flashed to his side. Unaccustomed to a coat, his thumb caught in the +pocket just as the man who had shouldered the flimsy door down, reeled +and sprawled on the floor. Pete jerked his hand free, but in that lost +instant a gun roared in the doorway. He crumpled to the floor. The +heavy-shouldered man, followed by two officers, stepped into the room +and glanced about. + +"Thought there was two? Where's the other guy?" queried the policeman. + +The man on the floor rose and picked up his gun. + +"Well, we got one, anyhow. Bill, 'phone the chief that one of 'em got +away. Have 'em send the wagon. This kid here is done for, I guess." + +"He went for his gun," said the heavy-shouldered man. "It's a dam' +good thing you went down with that door. Gave me a chance to get him." + +"Here's their stuff," said an officer, kicking Pete's pack that lay +corded on the floor. + +"Well, Tim," said the man who had shouldered the door down, "you stay +here till the wagon comes. Bill and I will look around when he gets +back. Guess the other one made for the line. Don't know how he worked +it. Keep the crowd out." + +"Is he all in?" queried the officer. + +"No; he's breathin' yet. But he ain't got long. He's a young bird to +be a killer." + + +Late that afternoon Pete was taken from the Emergency to the General +Hospital. Lights were just being turned on in the surgical ward and +the newsboys were shouting an extra, headlining a border raid by the +Mexicans and the shooting of a notorious bandit in El Paso. + +The president of the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank bought a +paper as he stepped into his car that evening and was driven toward +home. He read the account of the police raid, of the escape of one of +the so-called outlaws, the finding of the murdered man near Sanborn, +and a highly colored account of what was designated as the invasion of +the United States territory by armed troops of Mexico. + +Four thousand dollars in gold had been delivered to him personally that +day by the express company--a local delivery from a local source. +"Jim's man," he said to himself as the car passed through the Plaza and +turned toward the eastern side of the town. Upon reaching home the +president told his chauffeur to wait. Slitting an envelope he wrapped +the paper and addressed it to James Ewell, Showdown, Arizona. + +"Mail it at the first box," he said. "Then you can put the car up. I +won't need it to-night." + + +The surgeon at the General Hospital was bending over Pete. The surgeon +shook his head, then turning he gave the attendant nurse a few brief +directions, and passed on to another cot. As the nurse sponged Pete's +arm, an interne poised a little glittering needle. "There's just a +chance," the surgeon had said. + +At the quick stab of the needle, Pete's heavy eyes opened. The little +gray-eyed nurse smiled. The interne rubbed Pete's arm and stepped +back. Pete's lips moved. The nurse bent her head. "Did--Ed"--Pete's +face twitched--"make it?" + +"You mustn't talk," said the nurse gently. And wishing with all her +heart to still the question that struggled in those dark, anxious eyes, +she smiled again. "Yes, he made it," she said, wondering if Ed were +the other outlaw that the papers had said had escaped. She walked +briskly to the end of the room and returned with a dampened towel and +wiped the dank sweat from Pete's forehead. He stared up at her, his +face white and expressionless. "It was the coat--my hand caught," he +murmured. + +She nodded brightly, as though she understood. She did not know what +his name was. There had been nothing by which to identify him. And +she could hardly believe that this youth, lying there under that black +shadow that she thought never would lift again, could be the desperate +character the interne made him out to be, retailing the newspaper +account of his capture to her. + +It was understood, even before the doctor had examined Pete, that he +could not live long. The police surgeon had done what he could. Pete +had been removed to the General Hospital, as the Emergency was crowded. + +The little nurse was wondering if he had any relatives, any one for +whom he wished to send. Surely he must realize that he was dying! She +was gazing at Pete when his eyes slowly opened and the faintest trace +of a smile touched his lips. His eyes begged so piteously that she +stepped close to the cot and stooped. She saw that he wanted to ask +her something, or tell her something that was worrying him. "What did +it matter?" she thought. At any moment he might drift into +unconsciousness . . . + +"Would you--write--to The Spider--and say I delivered the--goods?" + +"But who is he--where--" + +"Jim Ewell, Showdown--over in--Arizona." + +"Jim Ewell, Showdown, Arizona." she repeated. "And what name shall I +sign?" + +"Jest Pete," he whispered, and his eyes closed. + + +Pete's case puzzled Andover, the head-surgeon at, the General. It was +the third day since Pete's arrival and he was alive--but just alive and +that was all. One peculiar feature of the case was the fact that the +bullet--a thirty-eight--which had pierced the right lung, had not gone +entirely through the body. Andover, experienced in gun-shot wounds, +knew that bullets fired at close range often did freakish things. +There had been a man recently discharged from the General as +convalescent, who had been shot in the shoulder, and the bullet, +striking the collar-bone, had taken a curious tangent, following up the +muscle of the neck and lodging just beneath the ear. In that case +there had been the external evidence of the bullet's location. In this +case there was no such evidence to go by. + +The afternoon of the third day, Pete was taken to the operating room +and another examination made. The X-ray showed a curious blur near the +right side of the spine. To extract the bullet would be a difficult +and savage operation, an operation which the surgeon thought his +patient in his present weakened condition could not stand. Pete lay in +a heavy stupor, his left arm and the left side of his face partially +paralyzed. + +The day after his arrival at the General two plain-clothes men came to +question him. He was conscious and could talk a little. But they had +learned nothing of his companion, the killing of Brent, nor how +Brevoort managed to evade them. They gathered little of Pete's history +save that he told them his name, his age, and that he had no relatives +nor friends. On all other subjects he was silent. Incidentally the +officials gave his name to the papers, and the papers dug into their +back files for reference to an article they had clipped from the +"Arizona Sentinel," which gave them a brief account of the Annersley +raid and the shooting of Gary. They made the most of all this, writing +a considerable "story," which the president of the Stockmen's Security +read and straightway mailed to his old acquaintance, The Spider. + +The officers from the police station had told Pete bluntly that he +could not live, hoping to get him to confess to or give evidence as to +the killing of Brent. Pete at once knew the heavy-shouldered man--the +man who had shot him down and who was now keen on getting evidence in +the case. + +"So I'm goin' to cross over?" Pete had said, eying the other curiously. +"Well, all I wish is that I could git on my feet long enough--to--get a +crack at you--on an even break. I wouldn't wear no coat, neither." + +The fact that Pete had bungled seemed to worry him much more than his +condition. He felt that it was a reflection on his craftmanship. The +plain-clothes man naturally thought that Pete was incorrigible, failing +to appreciate that it was the pride of youth that spoke rather than the +personal hatred of an enemy. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT + +That the news of Pete's serious condition should hit The Spider as hard +as it did was as big a surprise to The Spider himself as it could ever +have been to his closest acquaintance. Yet it was a fact--and The +Spider never quarreled with facts. + +The spider of the web-weaving species who leaves his web, invites +disaster unless he immediately weaves another, and The Spider of +Showdown was only too well aware of this. Always a fatalist, he took +things as they came, but had never yet gone out of his way to tempt the +possibilities. + +Shriveled and aged beyond his natural years, with scarcely a true +friend among his acquaintances, weary of the monotony of life--not in +incident but in prospect--too shrewd to drug himself with drink, and +realizing that the money he had got together both by hook and by crook +and banked in El Paso could never make him other than he was, he faced +the alternative of binding himself to Pete's dire need and desperate +condition, or riding to Baxter and taking the train from thence to El +Paso--his eyes open to what he was doing, both as a self-appointed +Samaritan and as a much-wanted individual in the town where Pete lay +unconscious, on the very last thin edge of Nothingness. + +The Spider's preparations for leaving Showdown were simple enough. He +had his Mexican bale and cord the choicest of the rugs and blankets, +the silver-studded saddle and bridle, the Bayeta cloth--rare and +priceless--and the finest of his Indian beadwork. Each bale was +tagged, and on each tag was written the name of Boca's mother. All +these things were left in his private room, which he locked. Whether +or not he surmised what was going to happen is a question--but he did +not disregard possibilities. + +His Mexican was left in charge of the saloon with instructions to keep +it open as usual, tell no one where his master had gone, and wait for +further instructions. + +The Spider chose a most ordinary horse from his string and wore a most +ordinary suit of clothes. The only things in keeping with his lined +and weathered face were his black Stetson and his high-heeled boots. +He knew that it would be impossible to disguise himself. He would be +foolish to make the attempt. His bowed legs, the scar running from +chin to temple, his very gait made disguise impossible. To those who +did not know him he would be an "old-timer" in from the desert. To +those who did know him . . . Well, they were not many nor over-anxious +to advertise the fact. + +He left at night, alone, and struck south across the desert, riding +easily--a shrunken and odd figure, but every inch a horseman. Just +beneath his unbuttoned vest, under his left arm, hung the +service-polished holster of his earlier days. He had more than enough +money to last him until he reached El Paso, and a plentiful stock of +cigars. It was about nine o'clock next morning when he pulled up at +Flores's 'dobe and dismounted stiffly. Flores was visibly surprised +and fawningly obsequious. His chief was dressed for a long journey. +It had been many years since The Spider had ridden so far from +Showdown. Something portentous was about to happen, or had happened. + +Flores's wife, however, showed no surprise, but accepted The Spider's +presence in her usual listless manner. To her he addressed himself as +she made coffee and placed a chair for him. They talked of Boca---and +once The Spider spoke of Boca's mother, whom the Senora Flores had +known in Mexico. + +Old Flores fed The Spider's horse, meanwhile wondering what had drawn +the chief from the security of his web. He concluded that The Spider +was fleeing from some danger---the law, perhaps, or from some ancient +grudge that had at last found him out to harry him into the desert, a +hunted man and desperate. The Mexican surmised that The Spider had +money with him, perhaps all his money--for local rumor had it that The +Spider possessed great wealth. And of course he would sleep there that +night . . . + +Upon returning to the 'dobe Flores was told by The Spider to say +nothing of having seen him. This confirmed the old Mexican's suspicion +that The Spider had fled from danger. And Flores swore by the saints +that none should know, while The Spider listened and his thin lips +twitched. + +"You'd knife me in my bed for less than half the money on me," he told +Flores. + +The Mexican started back, as though caught in the very act, and whined +his allegiance to The Spider. Had he not always been faithful? + +"No," said The Spider, "but the senora has." + +Flores turned and shuffled toward the corral. The Spider, standing in +the doorway of the 'dobe, spoke to Flores's wife over his shoulder: "If +I don't show up before next Sunday, senora, get your man to take you to +Showdown. Juan will give you the money, and the things I left up +there." + +"You will not come back," said the Mexican woman. + +"Don't know but that you are right--but you needn't tell Flores that." + +An hour later The Spider had Flores bring up his horse. He mounted and +turned to glance round the place. He shrugged his shoulders. In a few +minutes he was lost to sight on the trail south which ran along the +canon-bed. + +That night he arrived at Baxter, weary and stiff from his long ride. +He put his horse in the livery-stable and paid for its keep in +advance--"a week," he said, and "I'll be back." + +Next morning he boarded the local for El Paso. He sat in the +smoking-compartment, gazing out on the hurrying landscape. At noon he +got off the train and entered an eating-house across from the station. +When he again took his seat in the smoker he happened to glance out. +On the platform was a square-built, sombrero'd gentleman, his back to +the coach and talking to an acquaintance. There was something familiar +in the set of those shoulders. The Spider leaned forward that he might +catch a glimpse of the man's face. Satisfied as to the other's +identity, he leaned back in his seat and puffed his cigar. The Spider +made no attempt to keep from sight. The square-shouldered man was the +town marshal of Hermanas. As the train pulled out, the marshal turned +and all but glanced up when the brakeman, swinging to the steps of the +smoker, reached out and playfully slapped him on the shoulder. The car +slid past. The Spider settled himself in his seat. + +With the superstition of the gambler he believed that he would find an +enemy in the third person to recognize him, and with a gambler's stolid +acceptance of the inevitable he relaxed and allowed himself to plan for +the immediate future. On Pete's actual condition would depend what +should be done. The Spider drew a newspaper clipping from his pocket. +The El Paso paper stated that there was one chance in a thousand of +Pete recovering. The paper also stated that there had been money +involved--a considerable sum in gold--which had not been found. The +entire affair was more or less of a mystery. It was hinted that the +money might not have been honestly come by in the first place, +and--sententiously--that crime breeds crime, in proof of which, the +article went on to say; "the man who had been shot by the police was +none other than Pete Annersley, notorious as a gunman in the service of +the even more notorious Jim Ewell, of Showdown, or 'The Spider,' as he +was known to his associates." Followed a garbled account of the raid +on the Annersley homestead and the later circumstance of the shooting +of Gary, all of which, concluded the item, spoke for itself. + +"More than Pete had a chance to do," soliloquized The Spider. "They +got the kid chalked up as a crook--and he's as straight as a die." And +strangely enough this thought seemed to please The Spider. + +Shouldering through the crowd at the El Paso station, The Spider rubbed +against a well-dressed, portly Mexican who half-turned, showed surprise +as he saw the back of a figure which seemed familiar--the bowed legs +and peculiar walk--and the portly Mexican, up from the south because +certain financial interests had backed him politically were becoming +decidedly uncertain, named a name, not loudly, but distinctly and with +peculiar emphasis. The Spider heard, but did not heed nor hurry. A +black-shawled Mexican woman carrying a baby blundered into the portly +Mexican. He shoved her roughly aside. She cursed him for a pig who +robbed the poor--for he was known to most Mexicans--and he so far +forgot his dignity and station as to curse her heartily in return. The +Spider meanwhile was lost in the crowd that banked the station platform. + +El Paso had grown--was not the El Paso of The Spider's earlier days, +and for a brief while he forgot his mission in endeavoring mentally to +reconstruct the old town as he had known it. Arrived at the Plaza he +turned and gazed about. "Number two," he said to himself, recalling +the portly Mexican--and the voice. He shrugged his shoulders. + +His request to see the president of the Stockmen's Bank was borne +hesitatingly to that individual's private office, the messenger +returning promptly with instructions to "show the gentleman in." + +Contrary to all precedent the president, Hodges, was not portly, but a +man almost as lean as The Spider himself; a quick, nervous man, +forceful and quite evidently "self-made." + +"Sit down, Jim." + +The Spider pulled up a chair. "About that last deposit--" + +The president thrust his hand into a pigeon-hole and handed The Spider +a slip of paper. + +"So he got here with the cash before they nailed him?" And The Spidery +face expressed surprise. + +"The money came by express--local shipment. I tried to keep it out of +the papers. None of their dam' business." + +"I'm going to close my account," stated The Spider. + +"Going south?" + +"No. I got some business in town. After that--" + +"You mean you've got _no_ business in town. Why didn't you write?" + +"You couldn't handle it. Figure up my credit--and give me a draft for +it, I'll give you my check. Make it out to Peter Annersley," said The +Spider. + +"One of your gunmen, eh? I see by the papers he's got a poor chance of +using this." + +"So have I," and The Spider almost smiled. + +Hodges pushed back his chair. "See here, Jim. You've got no business +in this town and you know it! And you've got enough money to keep you +comfortable anywhere--South America, for instance. Somebody'll spot +you before you've been here twenty-four hours. Why don't you let me +call a taxi--there's a train south at eleven-thirty." + +"Thanks, E.H.--but I'm only going over to the hospital." + +"You sure will, if you stick around this town long." + +"I'm going to see that boy through," said The Spider. + +"Then you're not after any one?" + +"No, not that way." + +"Well, you got me guessing. I thought I knew you." + +"Mebby, Ed. Now, if the boy comes through all right, and I don't, I +want you to see that he gets this money. There's nobody in town can +identify him but me--and mebby I won't be around here to do it. If he +comes here and tells you he's Pete Annersley and that The Spider told +him to come, hand him the draft. 'Course, if things go smooth, I'll +take care of that draft myself." + +"Making your will, Jim?" + +"Something like that." + +"All right. I might as well talk to the moon. I used to think that +you were a wise one--" + +"Just plain dam' fool, same as you, E.H. The only difference is that +you're tryin' to help _me_ out--and I aim to help out a kid that is +plumb straight." + +"But I have some excuse. If it hadn't been for you when I was down +south on that Union Oil deal--" + +"Ed, we're both as crooked as they make 'em, only you play your game +with stocks and cash, inside--and I play mine outside, and she's a lone +hand. This kid, Pete, is sure a bad hombre to stack up against--but +he's plumb straight." + +"You seem to think a whole lot of him." + +"I do," said The Spider simply. + +The president shook his head. The Spider rose and stuck out his hand. +"So-long, Ed." + +"So-long, Jim. I'll handle this for you. But I hate like hell to +think it's the last time I _can_ handle a deal for you." + +"You can't tell," said The Spider. + +The president of the Stockmen's Security sat turning over the papers on +his desk. It had been a long while since he had been in the +saddle--some eighteen or twenty years. As a young man he had been sent +into Mexico to prospect for oil. There were few white men in Mexico +then. But despite their vicarious callings they usually stood by each +other. The Spider, happening along during a quarrel among the natives +and the oil-men, took a hand in the matter, which was merely incidental +to his profession. The oil-men had managed to get out of that part of +the country with the loss of but two men--a pretty fair average, as +things went those days. Years afterwards the president of the +Stockmen's Security happened to meet The Spider in El Paso--and he did +not forget what he owed him. The Spider at that time had considerable +gold which he finally banked with the Stockmen's Security at the +other's suggestion. The arrangement was mutually agreeable. The +Spider knew that the president of the Stockmen's Security would never +disclose his identity to the authorities--and Hodges felt that as a +sort of unofficial trustee he was able to repay The Spider for his +considerable assistance down in Mexico. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +DORIS + +Contrast to the rules of the hospital, the head-surgeon was chatting +rather intimately with Pete's nurse. They were in the anteroom of the +surgical ward. She was getting ready to go on duty. + +"No, Miss Gray," said the surgeon positively, "he can't hold out much +longer unless we operate. And I don't think he could stand an +operation. He has amazing vitality, he's young, and in wonderful +condition--outdoor life and pretty clean living. But he don't seem to +care whether he lives or not. Has he said anything to you about--" +The surgeon paused and cleared his throat. + +"No. He just stares at me. Sometimes he smiles--and, Dr. Andover, +I've been here two years--and I'm used to it, but I simply can't help +feeling--that he ought to have a chance." + +The surgeon studied her wistful face and for a moment forgot that he +was the head-surgeon of the General, and that she was a nurse. He +liked Doris Gray because of her personality and ability. Two years of +hard work at the General had not affected her quietly cheerful manner. + +"You're wearing yourself out worrying about this case," said the +surgeon presently. "And that won't do at all." + +She flushed and her seriousness vanished. "I'm willing to," she said +simply. + +The doctor smiled and shook his finger at her. "Miss Gray, you know a +good nurse--" + +"I know, Dr. Andover, but he hasn't a friend in the world. I asked him +yesterday if I should write to any one, or do anything for him. He +just smiled and shook his head. He doesn't seem to be afraid of +anything--nor interested in anything. He--oh, his eyes are just like +the eyes of a dog that is hurt and wants so much to tell you something, +and can't. I don't care what the newspapers say--and those men from +the police station! I don't believe he is really bad. Now please +don't smile and tell me I'm silly." + +"I thought you just said he didn't have a friend in the world." + +"Oh, I don't count--that way." Then hurriedly: "I forgot--he did ask +me to write to some one--the first day--a Jim Ewell, in Arizona. He +asked me to say he had 'delivered the goods.' I don't know that I +should have done it without reporting it, but--well, you said he +couldn't live--" + +"Some outlaw pal of his, probably," said Andover, frowning. "But that +has nothing to do with his--er--condition right now." + +"And sometimes he talks when he is half-conscious, and he often speaks +to some one he calls 'The Spider,'" asserted Doris. + +"Queer affair. Well, I'll think about it. If we do operate, I'll want +you--" + +The surgeon was interrupted by a nurse who told him there was a man who +wanted to see Peter Annersley: that the man was insistent. The +head-nurse was having supper, and should the caller be allowed in after +visiting hours? + +"Send him in," said the surgeon, and he stepped into the +superintendent's office. Almost immediately The Spider sidled across +the hallway and entered the room. The surgeon saw a short, shriveled, +bow-legged man, inconspicuously dressed save for his black Stetson and +the riding-boots which showed below the bottom of his trousers. The +Spider's black beady eyes burned in his weather-beaten and scarred +face--"the eyes of a hunted man"--thought the surgeon. In a peculiar, +high-pitched voice, he asked Andover if he were the doctor in charge. + +"I'm Andover, head-surgeon," said the other. "Won't you sit down?" + +The other glanced round. Andover got up and closed the door. "You +wish to see young Annersley, I understand." + +"You looking after him?" + +Andover nodded. + +"Is he hurt pretty bad?" + +"Yes. I doubt if he will recover." + +"Can I see him?" + +"Well,"--and the surgeon hesitated,--"it's after hours. But I don't +suppose it will do any harm. You are a friend of his?" + +"About the only one, I reckon." + +"Well--I'll step in with you. He may be asleep. If he is--" + +"I won't bother him." + +The nurse met them, and put her finger to her lips. Andover nodded and +stepped aside as The Spider hobbled to the cot and gazed silently at +Pete's white face. Then The Spider turned abruptly and hobbled down +the aisle, followed by Andover. "Come in here," said the surgeon as +The Spider hesitated. + +Andover told him briefly that there was one chance in a thousand of +Pete's recovery; that the shock had been terrific, describing just +where the bullet was lodged and its effect upon the sensory nerves. +Andover was somewhat surprised to find that this queer person knew +considerable about gun-shot wounds and was even more surprised when The +Spider drew a flat sheaf of bills from his pocket and asked what an +operation would cost. Andover told him. + +The Spider immediately counted out the money and handed it to Andover. +"And get him in a room where he can be by himself. I'll pay for it." + +"That's all right, but if he should not recover from the operation--" + +"I'm gambling that he'll pull through," said The Spider. "And there's +my ante. It's up to you." + +"I'll have a receipt made out--" + +The Spider shook his bead. "His life'll be my receipt. And you're +writing it--don't make no mistake." + +Andover's pale face flushed. "I'm not accustomed to having my +reputation as a surgeon questioned." + +"See here," said The Spider, laying another packet of bills on the +surgeon's desk. "Where I come from money talks. And I reckon it ain't +got tongue-tied since I was in El Paso last. Here's a thousand. Pull +that boy through and forget where you got the money." + +"I couldn't do more if you said ten thousand," asserted Andover. + +"Gambling is my business," said The Spider. "I raise the ante. Do you +come in?" + +"This is not a sporting proposition,"--Andover hesitated,--"but I'll +come in," he added slowly. + +"You're wrong," said The Spider; "everything is a sporting proposition +from the day a man is born till he cashes in, and mebby after. I don't +know about that, and I didn't come here to talk. My money 'll talk for +me." + +Andover, quite humanly, was thinking that a thousand dollars would help +considerably toward paying for the new car that he had had in mind for +some time. He used a car in his work and he worked for the General +Hospital. His desire to possess a new car was not altogether +professional, and he knew it. But he also knew that he was overworked +and underpaid. + +"Who shall I say called?" asked Andover, picking up the packet of bills. + +"Just tell him it was a friend." + +Andover was quite as shrewd in his way as was this strange visitor, who +evidently did not wish to be known. "This entire matter is rather +irregular," he said,--"and the--er--bonus--is necessarily a +confidential matter!" + +"Which suits me,"--and The Spider blinked queerly. + +Dr. Andover stepped to the main doorway. As he bade The Spider +good-night, he told him to call up on the telephone about ten-thirty +the next morning, or to call personally if he preferred. + +The Spider hesitated directly beneath the arc-light at the entrance. +"If I don't call up or show up--you needn't say anything about this +deal to him--but you can tell him he's got a friend on the job." + +The doctor nodded and walked briskly back to the superintendent's +office, where he waited until the secretary appeared, when he turned +over the money that had been paid to him for the operation and a +private room, which The Spider had engaged for two weeks. He told the +secretary to make out a receipt in Peter Annersley's name. "A friend +is handling this for him," he explained. + +Then he sent for the head-nurse. "I would like to have Miss Gray and +Miss Barlow help me," he told her, in speaking of the proposed +operation. + +"Miss Gray is on duty to-night," said the head-nurse. + +"Then if you will arrange to have her get a rest, please. And--oh, +yes, we'll probably need the oxygen. And you might tell Dr. Gleason +that this is a special case and I'd like to have him administer the +anaesthetic." + +Andover strode briskly to the surgical ward and stopped at Pete's +couch. As he stooped and listened to Pete's breathing, the packet of +crisp bills slipped from his inside pocket, and dropped to the floor. + +He was in the lobby, on his way to his car, when Doris came running +after him. "Dr. Andover," she called. "I think you dropped +this,"--and she gave him the packet of bills. + +"Mighty careless of me," he said, feeling in his inside pocket. +"Handkerchief--slipped them in on top of it. Thank you." + +Doris gazed at him curiously. His eyes wavered. "We're going to do +our best to pull him through," he said with forced sprightliness. + +Doris smiled and nodded. But her expression changed as she again +entered the long, dim aisle between the double row of cots. Only that +evening, just before she had talked with Andover about Pete, she had +heard the surgeon tell the house-physician jokingly that all that stood +between him and absolute destitution was a very thin and exceedingly +popular check-book--and Andover had written his personal check for ten +dollars which he had cashed at the office. Doris wondered who the +strange man was that had come in with Andover, an hour ago, and how Dr. +Andover had so suddenly become possessed of a thousand dollars. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +"CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME" + +At exactly ten-thirty the next morning The Spider was at the +information desk of the General Hospital, inquiring for Andover. + +"He's in the operating-room," said the clerk. + +"Then I'll wait." The Spider sidled across to the reception-room and +sat nervously fingering the arm of his chair. Nurses passed and +repassed the doorway, going quietly through the hall. From somewhere +came the faint animal-like wail of a newly born babe. The Spider had +gripped the arm of his chair. A well-gowned woman stopped at the +information desk and left a great armful of gorgeous roses wrapped in +white tissue paper. Presently a man--evidently a laborer--hobbled past +on crutches, his foot bandaged; a huge, grotesque white foot that he +held stiffly in front of him and which he seemed to be following, +rather than guiding. A nurse walked slowly beside him. The Spider +drummed the chair-arm with nervous fingers. His little beady eyes were +constantly in motion, glancing here and there,--at the empty chairs in +the room, at the table with its neatly piled magazines, at a large +picture of the hospital, and a great group of nurses standing on the +stone steps, and then toward the doorway. Presently a nurse came in +and told him that Dr. Andover would be unable to see him for some time: +that the patient just operated on was doing as well as could be +expected. + +"He--he's come through all right?" + +"Yes. You might call up in an hour or so." + +The Spider rose stiffly and put on his hat. + +"Thanks," he said and hobbled out and across the lobby. A cab was +waiting for him, and the driver seemed to know his destination, for he +whipped up his horse and drove south toward the Mexican quarter, +finally stopping at an inconspicuous house on a dingy side street that +led toward the river. The Spider glanced up and down the street before +he alighted. Then he gave the driver a bill quite out of proportion to +his recent service. "You can come about the same time to-morrow," said +The Spider, and he turned and hobbled to the house. + +About noon he came out, and after walking several blocks stopped at a +corner grocery and telephoned to the hospital, asking for Andover, who +informed him that the operation had been successful, as an operation, +but that the patient was in a critical condition--that it would be +several hours before they would dare risk a definite statement as to +his chances of recovery. The surgeon told The Spider that they were +using oxygen, which fact in itself was significant. + +The Spider crossed the street to a restaurant, drank several cups of +coffee, and on his way out bought a supply of cigars. He played +solitaire in his room all that afternoon, smoking and muttering to +himself until the fading light caused him to glance at his watch. He +slipped into his coat and made his way uptown. + +Shortly after seven he entered the hospital. Andover had left word +that he be allowed to see Pete. And again The Spider stood beside +Pete's cot, gazing down upon a face startlingly white in contrast to +his dark hair and black eyebrows--a face drawn, the cheeks pinched, and +the lips bloodless. "You taking care of him?"--and The Spider turned +to Doris. She nodded, wondering if this queer, almost deformed +creature were "The Spider" that Pete had so often talked to when +half-conscious. Whoever he was, her quick, feminine intuition told her +that this man's stiff and awkward silence signified more than any +spoken solicitude; that behind those beady black eyes was a soul that +was tormented with doubt and hope, a soul that had battled through dark +ways to this one great unselfish moment . . . How could one know that +this man risked his life in coming there? Yet she did know it. The +very fact that he was Pete's friend would almost substantiate that. +Had not the papers said that Peter Annersley was a hired gunman of The +Spider's? And although this man had not given his name, she knew that +he was The Spider of Pete's incoherent mutterings. And The Spider, +glancing about the room, gazed curiously at the metal oxygen tank and +then at the other cot. + +"You staying here right along?" he queried. + +"For a while until he is out of danger." + +"When will that be?" + +"I don't know. But I do know that he is going to live." + +"Did the doc say so?" + +Doris shook her head. "No, Dr. Andover thinks he has a chance, but I +_know_ that he will get well." + +"Does Pete know that I been here?" + +"No. The doctor thought it best not to say anything about that yet." + +"I reckon that's right." + +"Is he your son?" asked Doris. + +"No. Just a kid that used to--work for me." + +And without further word, The Spider hobbled to the doorway and was +gone. + +Hour after hour Doris sat by the cot watching the faintly flickering +life that, bereft of conscious will, fought for existence with each +deep-drawn breath. About two in the morning Pete's breathing seemed to +stop. Doris felt the hesitant throb of the pulse and, rising, stepped +to the hall and telephoned for the house-surgeon. + + +"Caught it just in time," he said to the nurse as he stepped back and +watched the patient react to the powerful heart-stimulant. Pete's +breathing became more regular. + +The surgeon had been gone for a few minutes when Pete's heavy lids +opened. + +"It--was gittin'--mighty dark--down there," he whispered. And Pete +stared up at her, his great dark eyes slowly brightening under the +artificial stimulant. Doris bent over him and smoothed his hair back +from his forehead. "I'm the--the Ridin' Kid--from--Powder River," he +whispered hoarsely. "I kin ride 'em comin' or goin'--but I don't wear +no coat next journey. My hand caught in the pocket." He glanced +toward the doorway. "But we fooled 'em. Ed got away, so I reckon I'll +throw in with you, Spider." Pete tried to lift himself up, but the +nurse pressed him gently back. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on his +forehead. Doris put her hand on the back of his. At the touch his +lips moved. "Boca was down there--in the dark--smilin' and tellin' me +it was all right and to come ahead," he whispered. "I was tryin' to +climb out--of that there--canon . . . Andy throwed his rope . . . +Caught it just in time . . . And Andy he laughs. Reckon he didn't +know--I was--all in . . ." Pete breathed deeply, muttered, and drifted +into an easy sleep. Doris watched him for a while, fighting her own +desire to sleep. She knew that the crisis was past, and with that +knowledge came a physical let-down that left her worn and desperately +weary: not because she had been on duty almost twenty-four hours +without rest--she was young and could stand that--but because she had +given so much of herself to this case from the day Pete had been +brought in--through the operation which was necessarily savage, and up +to the moment when he had fallen asleep, after having passed so close +to the border of the dark Unknown. And now that she knew he would +recover, she felt strangely disinterested in her work at the hospital. +But being a rather practical young person, never in the least morbid, +she attributed this unusual indifference to her own condition. She +would not allow herself to believe that the life she had seen slipping +away, and which she had drawn back from the shadows, could ever mean +anything to her, aside from her profession. And why should it? This +dark-eyed boy was a stranger, an outcast, even worse, if she were to +believe what the papers said of him. Yet he had been so patient and +uncomplaining that first night when she knew that he must have been +suffering terribly. Time and again she had wiped the red spume from +his lips, until at last he ceased to gasp and cough and lay back +exhausted. And Doris could never forget how he had tried to smile as +he told her, whispering hoarsely, "that he was plumb ashamed of makin' +such a doggone fuss." Then day after day his suffering had grown less +as his vitality ebbed. Following, came the operation, an almost +hopeless experiment . . . and that strange creature, The Spider . . . +who had paid for the operation and for this private room . . . Doris +thought of the thousand dollars in bills that she had found and +returned to Andover; and while admiring his skill as a surgeon, she +experienced a sudden dislike for him as a man. It seemed to her that +he had been actually bribed to save Pete's life, and had pocketed the +bribe . . . again it was The Spider . . . What a name for a human +being--yet how well it fitted! The thin bow-legs, the quick, sidling +walk, the furtive manner, the black, blinking eyes . . . Doris yawned +and shivered. Dawn was battling its slow way into the room. A nurse +stepped in softly. Doris rose and made a notation on the chart, told +the nurse that her patient had been sleeping since two o'clock, and +nodding pleasantly left the room. + +The new nurse sniffed audibly. Miss Gray was one of Dr. Andover's +pets! She knew! She had seen them talking together, often enough. +And Andover knew better than to try to flirt with her. What a fuss +they were making about "Miss Gray's cowboy," as Pete had come to be +known among some of the nurses who were not "pets." Her pleasant +soliloquy was interrupted by a movement of Pete's hand. "Kin I have a +drink?" he asked faintly. + +"Yes, dearie," said the nurse, and smiled a large, and toothful smile +as she turned and stepped out into the hall. Pete's listless, dark +eyes followed her. "Fer Gawd's sake!" he muttered. His eyes closed. +He wondered what had become of his honest-to-Gosh nurse, Miss Gray. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +WHITE-EYE + +The third time that The Spider called at the hospital, and, as usual, +in the evening, he was told by the young house-doctor, temporarily in +charge, that he could not see the patient in room 218 without +permission from the physician in charge of the case, as it was after +visiting hours, and, moreover, there had been altogether too much +freedom allowed visitors as it was. This young doctor knew nothing of +The Spider's connection with the Annersley case, and was altogether +unimpressed by The Spider's appearance, save that he mentally labeled +him a "rough-neck" who was evidently pretty badly crippled by +rheumatism. + +The Spider felt tempted to resort to bribery, but there was something +so officious and aggressively professional in the manner of this +"straw-boss"--as The Spider mentally labeled him--that The Spider +hesitated to flatter his egotism by admitting that he held the +whip-hand. + +"Then mebby you can find out how he's getting along?" queried The +Spider, in his high-pitched voice. + +"No objection to that," said the young doctor, reaching for the desk +'phone. "Two-eighteen, please. Two-eighteen? How is your patient +to-night? That so? H-m-m! Oh, this is Miss Gray talking? H-m-m! +Thanks." And he hung up the receiver. + +"The patient is doing very well--exceptionally well. Would you care to +leave any message?" + +"You might tell Doc Andover to leave word that when I call, I get to +see the folks I come to see--and I reckon he'll set you straight." + +"Oh, I didn't--er--know you were a friend of Dr. Andover's. What is +the name, please?" + +"'T wouldn't interest you none, little man. Thanks for the +information." And The Spider hobbled out and clumped stiffly down the +wide stone stairway. + +The young doctor adjusted his glasses and stared into vacancy. "H-m-m! +And he had the nerve to call _me_ 'little man.' Now I should call him +a decidedly suspicious character. Looks something like an overgrown +spider. Birds of a feather," he added sententiously, with an air of +conscious rectitude, and a disregard for the propriety of the implied +metaphor. It is not quite certain whether he had Andover or Pete in +mind. But it is most probable that had he allowed The Spider to see +Pete that evening and talk with him, The Spider would have left El Paso +the next day, as he had planned, instead of waiting until the following +evening, against his own judgment and in direct opposition to that +peculiar mental reaction called "a hunch" by those not familiar with +the niceties of the English language, and called nothing really more +expressive by those who are. + +So far as The Spider knew, he had not been recognized by any one. Yet +with that peculiar intuition of the gunman and killer he knew that he +was marked. He wondered which of his old enemies had found him +out--and when and how that enemy would strike. + +That night he wrote a short letter to Pete, stating that he was in town +and would call to see him the following evening, adding that if he +failed to call Pete was to go to the Stockmen's Security and ask for +the president when he was able to be about. He mailed the letter +himself, walking several blocks to find a box. On his way back a man +passed him who peered at him curiously. The Spider's hand had crept +toward his upper vest-pocket as the other approached. After he passed, +The Spider drew out a fresh cigar and lighted it from the one he was +smoking. And he tossed the butt away and turned and glanced back. "I +wonder what White-Eye is doing in El Paso?" he asked himself. "He knew +me all right." The Spider shrugged his shoulders. His hunch had +proved itself. There was still time to leave town, but the fact that +White-Eye had recognized him and had not spoken was an insidious +challenge, the kind of a challenge which a killer never lets pass. For +the killer, strangely enough, is drawn to his kind through the instinct +of self-preservation, a psychological paradox to the layman, who does +not understand that peculiar pride of the gunman which leads him to +remove a menace rather than to avoid it. Curiosity as to a rival's +ability, his personal appearance, his quality of nerve, the sound of +his voice, has drawn many noted killers together--each anxious to prove +conclusively that he was the better man. And this curiosity, driven by +the high nervous tension of the man who must ever be on the alert, is +insatiable, and is assuaged only by insanity or his own death. The +removal of a rival does not satisfy this hunger to kill, but rather +creates a greater hunger, until, without the least provocation, the +killer will shoot down a man merely to satisfy temporarily this inhuman +and terrible craving. The killer veritably feeds upon death, until +that universal abhorrence of the abnormal, triumphant in the end, +adjusts the quivering balance--and Boot Hill boasts one more wooden +cross. + +The Spider, limping up the stairway to his room, knew that he would not +leave El Paso, knew that he could not leave the town until satisfied as +to what White-Eye's silence meant. And not only that, but he would +find out. He lighted the oil-lamp on the dresser and gazed at himself +in the glass. Then he took off his coat, shaved, washed, and put on a +clean shirt and collar. He took some gold and loose silver from his +money-belt, put on his hat and coat, and hobbled downstairs. He +thought he knew where he could get word of White-Eye's whereabouts, +stopped at a cigar-stand and telephoned for his cab--and his regular +driver. In a few minutes the cab was at the corner. He mentioned a +street number to the driver, who nodded knowingly. Pony Baxter's +place--where the game ran big. No place for a tin-horn. Only the real +ones played at Pony's. So this old-timer who paid so well was going to +take a whirl at the game? The cabby thought he saw a big tip coming. +Being somewhat of a sportsman in his way, and grateful for what The +Spider had already done for him, he drew up within a block of his +destination and, stepping down, told The Spider that Pony's place was +being watched--and had been for more than a week: that the bulls were +out for some strangers who were wanted bad. + +The Spider showed no sign of surprise. "Suppose I was one of 'em, eh?" +he queried. + +"That's none of my business, Captain. I ain't workin' for the force; +I'm workin' for myself." + +"All right. I'll walk down to Pony's place. After I go up, you can +drive down there and wait. I may be five minutes--or a couple of +hours. Here's something to make you forget who you're waiting for if +anybody should ask you." + +The cabby tucked the money in his pocket and climbed back to his seat. +"Don't know if somebody was to ask me," he said to himself, as he +watched The Spider hobble down the next block. "Lemme see," he +continued as he drove slowly along. "Some guy comes up and asks me for +a match and starts talkin' friendly, and mebby asks me to have a drink, +and I get friendly and tell him about that young sport from the East +that's been seein' the town and how somebody over to his hotel must 'a' +told him about the game at Pony's--and how he's upstairs, gettin' his +hair cut--short. Oh, I guess I ain't been in this business eight years +for nothin'." + +But the inquisitive stranger did not appear and the cabby's invention +was wasted. + +The Spider entered the first door to the left of the long hallway. The +room was fitted up as an office, with huge leather-upholstered chairs, +a mahogany center table, and a mahogany desk. In one corner stood a +large safe. On the safe-door was lettered "A. L. Baxter & Co." + +A man with a young, smooth face and silver-white hair was sitting at +the desk. He turned and nodded pleasantly. + +"I want to see Pony," said The Spider. + +"You're talking to him," said the other. "What can I do for you?" + +"You can tell Pony that I want to see him, here," said The Spider. +"And don't worry, he knows me." + +"The name, please." + +"Never mind that. Just take a good look at me--and tell him. He'll +come." + +The other rose and, stepping to the inner door, beckoned to some one in +the room beyond. The Spider seated himself, lighted a cigar, and +leaned back as though thoroughly at home. Presently a big man came in +briskly: a full-bodied, smooth-cheeked man who looked like the +prosperous manager of some legitimate business enterprise, save for the +large diamond horseshoe scintillating in his gray silk tie. + +"Why, hello, Jim!" he cried, evidently surprised. He told his partner +casually that he could go on inside and look after things for a few +minutes. When the other had gone he turned to The Spider. "What can I +do for you, Jim?" + +"Tell me where I can find White-Eye." + +"White-Eye? He hasn't been in here for three or four years. I didn't +know he was in town." + +"That might go with the bulls, Pony. I know White-Eye doesn't hang out +reg'lar here--ain't his kind of a joint. But you can tell me where he +does hang out. And I want to know." + +"You looking for him, Jim?" + +"No. But I've got a hunch he's looking for me." + +"Just how bad do you think he wants to see you?" queried Baxter, +tilting back his swing-chair and glancing sideways at The Spider. + +"About as bad as I want to see him," said The Spider. + +"You haven't been in town for quite a while, Jim." + +"No. Fifteen years, I reckon." + +"You don't change much." + +"I was thinking the same of you; always playing safe. You ought to +know better than to pull a bluff like that on me. But if that is your +game, I call. I want White-Eye." + +Pony Baxter had plenty of nerve. But he knew The Spider. "I haven't +seen White-eye for over three years," he said, turning to his desk. He +tore a memorandum slip from a pad and wrote something on it and handed +it to The Spider. It was simply a number on Aliso Street. The Spider +glanced at it and tore the slip in two. + +"He's stayin' with friends?" queried The Spider. + +"Yes. And I think you know most of them." + +"Thanks for the tip, Pony." + +"You going down there alone, Jim?" + +"I might." + +"I wouldn't," said Baxter. + +"I know dam' well _you_ wouldn't," laughed The Spider. + +Scarcely had The Spider stepped into the cab when four men slouched +from a dark stairway entrance a few doors down the street and watched +the cab turn a distant corner. + +"Well, you missed a good chance," said one of the men, as they moved +slowly toward the entrance to Pony Baxter's. + +"How about you? If you ain't forgetting it was the first one of us +that seen him was to get him." + +"And White-Eye, here, seen him first, when he crawled out of that rig. +If we'd 'a' gone up, instead of standin' here lettin' our feet git +cold--" + +"He must 'a' had his roll with him," said Pino, one of White-Eye's +companions and incidentally a member of that inglorious legion, "The +Men Who Can't Come Back." + +"'T ain't his roll I want," said White-Eye. + +"Too dam' bad about you not wantin' his roll. Any time--" + +"Any time you git The Spider's roll, you got to git him," asserted +another member of this nocturnal quartette, a man whose right arm and +shoulder sagged queerly. + +"The Spider ain't no _kid_, neither,"--and White-Eye paused at the +dimly lighted stairway entrance. + +The man with the deformed shoulder cursed White-Eye. The others +laughed. + +"Let's go git a drink--and then we'll have a talk with Pony. Come on, +Steve." + +They turned and drifted on up the street. Presently they were back at +the stairway entrance. "Pony won't stand for no rough stuff," advised +White-Eye as they turned and climbed the stair. "I'll do the talkin'." + +"I reckon he'll stand for anything we hand him," said Pino. "Fancy +clothes don't cut any figure with me." + +"Nobody that ever got a good look at you would say so," asserted +White-Eye. He paused at the head of the stairs. "I aim to find out +what The Spider wanted up here." + +"Go to it!"--and Pino grinned. + +As they entered the "office," Baxter was talking with his partner, with +whom he exchanged a significant glance as he realized who his visitors +were. The partner excused himself and stepped into the room beyond. + +"Well, boys, what can I do for you?" Baxter's manner was suavely +affable. + +"We're lookin' for a friend," declared White-Eye. + +"I don't think he's here." And Baxter smiled his professional smile. + +"But he's been here," asserted White-Eye. "We ain't here to make a +noise. We jest want to know what The Spider was doin' up here a spell +ago." + +"Oh, Jim? Why, he dropped in to shake hands. I hadn't seen him for +several years. Didn't know he was in town." + +"Feed that soft stuff to the yearlins'," snarled White-Eye. "The +Spider ain't chousin' around El Paso for his health, or yours." + +Baxter was about to say something when Pino stooped and picked up the +pieces of paper which The Spider had torn in two just before he left. +Pino had no special motive in picking up those torn bits of paper. He +simply saw them, picked them up, and rolled them nervously in his +fingers. White-Eye, watching Baxter, saw him blink and in turn watch +Pino's fingers as he twisted and untwisted the bits of paper. + +"He can't keep his hands still," said White-Eye, shrugging his shoulder +toward Pino. "Ever meet Pino. No? Well, he's a artist--when it comes +to drawin'--" + +Pino dropped the bits of paper, rose, and shook hands indifferently +with Baxter. As Pino sat down again, Baxter stooped and casually +picked up the torn pad-leaf on which he had written White-Eye's +address. He turned to his desk and taking a box of cigars from a +drawer passed it around. White-Eye's pin-point pupils glittered. Pony +Baxter seemed mighty anxious to get those two bits of paper out of +sight. White-Eye had seen him drop them in the drawer as he opened it. + +"Where did you send The Spider?" asked White-Eye quickly. + +"Send him! Didn't send him anywhere. He said he was going back to his +hotel." + +White-Eye blinked. He knew that The Spider was not stopping at a +hotel. For some reason Baxter had lied. + +"How's the game to-night?" queried White-Eye. + +"Quiet," replied Baxter. + +"Any strangers inside?" + +"No--not the kind of strangers you mean." + +"Then I reckon we'll take a look in. Don't mind takin' a whirl at the +wheel myself." + +"Come right in," said Baxter, as though relieved, and he opened the +door and stood aside to let them pass. + +A quiet game of poker was running at a table near the door. Farther +down the room, which was spacious and brilliantly lighted, a group were +playing the wheel. At the table beyond the usual faro game was in +progress. All told there were some fifteen men in the room, not +counting the dealers and lookout. One or two men glanced up as +White-Eye and his companions entered and sauntered from table to table. +To the regular habitues of the place, White-Eye and his companions were +simply "rough-necks" to whom Baxter was showing "the joint." + +Presently Baxter excused himself and, telling his visitors to make +themselves at home, strode back to his office. White-Eye and Pino +watched the wheel, while the man with the deformed shoulder and his +companion stood watching the faro game. The room was quiet save for +the soft click of the chips, the whirring of the ball, an occasional +oath, and the monotonous voice of the faro-dealer. + +Pino nudged White-Eye and indicated the little pile of gold that was +stacked before a player at the faro table. White-Eye shook his head +and stepped casually back. Pino sauntered over to him. + +"Chanct for a clean-up?" whispered Pino. + +"No show. The lookout's a gun. I know him. So is that guy at the +wheel. Pony's pardner packs a gat; and that guy standin' over by the +wall, smoking is drawin' down reg'lar pay for jest standin' there, +every night. 'Sides, they ain't enough stuff in sight to take a chanct +for. We ain't organized for this kind of a deal." + +"Then what's the use of hangin' around?" + +"'Cause they was somethin' on that piece of paper you picked up out +there that Pony didn't want us to see--and I aim to find out what it +was." + +"The number of some dame, most like," said Pino, grinning. + +"Did you hear him say The Spider went back to his _hotel_? Well, Pony +is double-crossin' somebody. Jest stick around and keep your eye on +the door." + +Meanwhile The Spider had arrived at the address given him--an empty +basement store in the south end of town. The place was dark and +evidently abandoned. Back of the store was a room in which were two +cheap iron beds, a washstand, and two chairs. The rear door of this +room opened on an alley, and it was through this door that White-Eye +and his companions entered and left the premises, which they had rented +at a low rate from the lessee of the place who now ran a grocery on the +street level, near the corner. + +The Spider had no means of knowing of the back room and thought that +Baxter had sent him to a chance number to get rid of him; or that the +latter would possibly suggest that White-Eye must have left the +neighborhood. + +"Is there a back stairs to Pony's place?" queried The Spider as he +stood by the cab. + +"No. But there's a fire-escape in the alley back of the block. The +last time they raided Pony the bulls got six gents comin' down the iron +ladder." + +"Just drive round that way." The Spider stepped into the cab. + +"You ain't a Government man, are you?" queried cabby. + +"No. I play a lone hand," said The Spider. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +"CLOSE THE CASES" + +Pony Baxter's place, located near the middle of what is commonly termed +a "business block," embraced the space once occupied by a number of +small offices, one of which he had retained as a sort of +reception-room, near the head of the stairway. That he might have a +spacious room for his business, the partitions of the former offices +had been removed, with the exception of those enclosing his office, and +a room at the extreme end of the building which opened on the hall, +near the end window, just over the fire-escape. This room was +expensively fitted up as a lavatory, with marble panels, basins, and +tiling. A uniformed negro with the inevitable whisk-broom was always +in attendance, quite as keen at "getting the dust" as was his employer. +The door to this room was fitted with a spring lock which allowed it to +be opened only from the inside, except with a pass-key. + +The Spider's cab, swinging into the alley, stopped directly beneath the +lower extension of the fire-escape. "Pull over closer to the wall," he +told the driver. Then he climbed to the driver's seat and stepped onto +the iron ladder. "You can drive round to the front and wait," he told +the cabby, who lost no time in getting out of the alley. Like most +nocturnal cabmen, he was quite willing to drive anywhere; but he +sincerely preferred to do his waiting for his fare in a more open +street. + +The window at the rear end of the hall was fastened. The Spider broke +the glass just below the catch with the butt of his gun. He raised the +window and slid into the hallway. + +"Who dat?" came from the lavatory. + +"It's me, Sam," said The Spider thickly, imitating the voice of a man +overcome by drink. "I cut my hand on the window. Want to get in--wash +up--blood--" + +"I ask Misto Baxtuh, suh." + +"Lemme in--quick--or you lose a five-spot. Bleeding bad--want to wash +up--" + +The spring lock clicked softly. Before Sam knew what had happened, The +Spider was in the lavatory and between him and the door to the main +room. "Get going," said The Spider. The amazed negro backed away from +that eloquent menace in The Spider's right hand. +"M-m-m-misto--misto--Captain-- Ah ain't done nuffin!" + +"Git!"--and The Spider indicated the rear window. + +The negro backed into the hall, saw the open window, and vanished +through it without parley. He dropped from the last step of the +fire-escape and picking himself up started to run, with no definite +destination in mind save space. + +As Baxter had said, things were quiet that night. The poker table had +been deserted and the players had left. A few "regulars" still hung +about the faro layout and the wheel. The hired "bouncer" had stepped +into the office to speak to Baxter. It was past twelve. There were no +strangers present save the four roughly dressed men. Baxter was just +telling the bouncer that he knew them, and that he surmised they were +after a certain party, but that that party would not be back there. As +he talked Baxter stepped to the outer door and locked it. It was too +late to expect any worth-while business. + +The Spider, who was in reality looking for Baxter, whom he suspected of +trickery, opened the lavatory door far enough to see into the main +room. In a flash he had placed three of the four men who "wanted" him. + +White-Eye and Longtree were standing near a player at the faro table, +evidently interested for the moment in the play. Near White-Eye, Pino +was rolling a cigarette. Beyond them, at the next table, stood a man +with a deformed shoulder--and The Spider recognized Gary of the +T-Bar-T, watching the few players at the wheel. . . . A film of cigar +smoke eddied round the lamps above the tables. Presently the players +at the faro table rose and left. The dealer put away his cases. The +lookout yawned and took off his green eye-shade. The man with the +deformed shoulder and his companion were moving toward White-Eye when +The Spider slipped through the doorway and sidled toward the middle of +the room. His hat was pushed back. He fumbled at his tie with his +right hand. "White-Eye!" he called. + +The faro-dealer and the lookout jerked round--then slowly backed toward +the side of the room. The man at the wheel paused with his hand in the +air. The players, intent upon the game, glanced up curiously. Pino, +who stood near White-Eye and almost in front of him, dropped his +cigarette. The room became as still as the noon desert. Three of the +four men who bore ancient grudge against The Spider, knew that there +would be no parley--that talk would be useless. The fourth, the man +whom they had addressed as Steve, had but recently associated himself +with them, and had no quarrel with The Spider. In that tense moment, +Gary wished himself well out of it. + +"Lost your nerve, Pino?" laughed The Spider, in his queer, high voice. +"You dropped your cigarette." + +One of the roulette players giggled hysterically. At the sound of that +laugh, White-Eye jerked Pino in front of him. The Spider's gun +appeared as though he had caught it from the air. As it roared, Pino +staggered sideways and fell. White-Eye fired as The Spider, throwing +shot after shot, walked slowly toward him. Suddenly White-Eye coughed +and staggered against the table. With his last shot The Spider dropped +White-Eye, then jerked a second gun from his waistband. Gary, kneeling +behind the faro table, fired over its top. The Spider whirled +half-round, recovered himself, and, sidling toward the table, threw +down on the kneeling man, who sank forward coughing horribly. Within +eight feet of him The Spider's gun roared again. Gary's body jerked +stiff at the shock and then slowly collapsed. The fourth man, +Longtree, with his hands above his head, begged The Spider not to kill +his old pal! The Spider's face, horribly distorted, venomous as a +snake's, colorless and glistening with sweat, twisted queerly as he +spoke: "Kill you, you damned coyote?" And he shot Longtree down as a +man would shoot a trapped wolf. + +Framed in the office doorway stood Pony Baxter, a blue automatic in his +hand. The Spider, leaning against the roulette table, laughed. "Gave +me the double-cross, eh, Pony? How do you like the layout?" He swayed +and clutched at the table. "Don't kill me, Pony!" he cried, in ghastly +mimickry of Longtree's voice. "Don't kill an old pal, Pony!" And the +sound of his voice was lost in the blunt roar of a shot that loosened +Baxter's fingers from the automatic. It clattered to the floor. +Baxter braced himself against the door-frame and, turning, staggered to +the desk 'phone. + +The Spider nodded to the faro-dealer. "Close your cases," he said, and +he hiccoughed and spat viciously. "Get me downstairs--I'm done." + +The dealer, who possessed plenty of nerve himself, was dumb with wonder +that this man, who had deliberately walked into a fight against three +fast guns, was still on his feet. Yet he realized that The Spider had +made his last fight. He was hard hit. "God, what a mess!" said the +dealer as he took The Spider's arm and steadied him to the office. +"You better lay down," he suggested. + +"Got a cab downstairs. General Hospital." + +The driver, who had been taking a nap inside the cab, heard the sound +of shooting, started up, threw back the lap-robe, and stepped to the +sidewalk. He listened, trying to count the shots. Then came silence. +Then another shot. He was aware that his best policy was to leave that +neighborhood quickly. Yet curiosity held him, and finally drew him +toward the dimly lighted stairway. He wondered what had happened. + +"Cab?" somebody called from above. The cabby answered. + +"Give us a hand here," cried a voice from the top of the stairs. "A +man's been shot--bad." + +The cabby clumped up and helped get The Spider to the street. +"Where'll I take him?" he stammered nervously, as he recognized the +shrunken figure. + +"He said something about the General Hospital. He's going--fast." + +"He used to call there, regular," asserted the cabby. "Anybody else +git hurt?" + +"Christ, yes! It's a slaughter-pen up there. Beat it, or he'll cash +in before you can get him to the hospital." + +The cabby pulled up at the General Hospital, leapt down, and hastened +round to the garage. He wakened the night ambulance-driver, stayed +until the driver and an interne had carried The Spider into the +hospital, and then drove away before he could be questioned. + +The house-doctor saw at once that The Spider could not live, +administered a stimulant, and telephoned to the police station, later +asking the ambulance-driver for the cabman's number, which the other +had failed to notice in the excitement. As he hung up the receiver a +nurse told him that the patient was conscious and wanted to speak to +Dr. Andover. The house-doctor asked The Spider if he wished to make a +statement. + +The Spider moved his head in the negative. "I'm done," he whispered, +"but I'd like to see Pete a minute." + +"Pete?" + +"Room 218," said the nurse. + +"Oh, you mean young Annersley. Well, I don't know." + +"He's my boy," said The Spider, using the last desperate argument--an +appeal difficult to ignore. + +"Take him to 218," said the doctor, gesturing toward the stretcher. + +The nurse, who went with them, roused Pete out of a quiet sleep and +told him that they were bringing some one to see him. "Your father," +she said, "who has been seriously injured. He asked to see you." + +Pete could not at first understand what she meant. "All right," he +said, turning his head and gazing toward the doorway. The nurse +stepped into the hall and nodded to the attendants and the doctor. + +They were about to move forward when The Spider gestured feebly to the +doctor. "Get me to my feet." "I won't bother you much after that." +And The Spider, who felt that his strength was going fast, tried to +raise himself on the stretcher. This effort brought the internes to +his side. They lifted him to his feet and shuffled awkwardly through +the doorway. + +Swaying between the internes, his shriveled body held upright by a +desperate effort of will, he fought for breath. + +Pete raised on his elbow, his dark eyes wide. "Spider!" he exclaimed. + +The internes felt The Spider's slackened muscles grow tense as he +endeavored to get closer to the cot. They helped him a step forward. +He pulled his arm free and thrust out his hand. Pete's hand closed on +those limp, clammy fingers. + +"I come ahead of time, pardner. Come to see how--you was--gettin' +along." The Spider's arm dropped to his side. + +"Take him to the other bed there," said the doctor. + +The Spider shook his head. "Just a minute." He nodded toward Pete. +"I want you to do something for me. Go see that party--in letter--fix +you up--he's played square with me--same as you done." + +"But who was it--" began Pete. + +"Old bunch. Trailed me--too close. Got 'em--every dam' one. A mas +ver. Tengo que marcharme, compadre." And then, "Close the cases," +said The Spider. + +The internes helped him to the cot on which Doris had rested as she +watched Pete through those dark hours, refusing to leave him till she +knew the great danger had passed. + +Pete lay back staring at the ceiling. He was, stunned by this sudden +calamity. And all at once he realized that it must have been The +Spider who had called to see him several times. Doris had hinted to +Pete that some friend asked after him daily. So The Spider had come to +El Paso to find out if the money had been delivered--risking his life +for the sake of a few thousand dollars! Pete turned and glanced at the +other cot. The doctor was bending over The Spider, who mumbled +incoherently. Presently brisk footsteps sounded in the hallway, and +two men entered the room and stepped to where The Spider lay. They +spoke in low tones to the doctor, who moved back. One of the men--a +heavy-shouldered, red-faced man, whom Pete recognized--asked The Spider +who had shot him, and if he had been in Pony Baxter's place that night. +The Spider's lips moved. The other leaned closer. Dimly The Spider +realized that this was the Law that questioned him. Even at the last +moment his old enemy had come to hunt him out. The Spider's beady +black eyes suddenly brightened. With a last vicious effort he raised +his head and spat in the officer's face. + +The doctor stepped quickly forward. The Spider lay staring at the +ceiling, his sightless eyes dulled by the black shadow of eternal night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +GETTING ACQUAINTED + +It was Pony Baxter who gave the names of the dead gunmen to the police, +confirming the records of White-Eye, Pino, Longtree, and Jim +Ewell--known as The Spider. The identity of the fourth man, he of the +deformed shoulder and shriveled arm, was unknown to Baxter. The police +had no record of him under any alias, and he would have been entered on +their report of findings as "unknown," had not the faro-dealer and the +lookout both asserted that The Spider had called him Gary--in fact had +singled him out unmistakenly, asking him what be had to do with the +quarrel, which evidently concerned but three of the four men whom The +Spider had killed. Pony Baxter, slowly recovering from an all but +fatal gun-shot wound, disclaimed any knowledge of a "frame-up" to get +The Spider, stating that, while aware that the gunmen and The Spider +were enemies, The Spider's sudden appearance was as much of a surprise +to him as it evidently was to the gunmen--and Baxter's serious +condition pretty well substantiated this statement. Baxter's negro was +also questioned--concerning Baxter's story and explaining the +circumstances under which he had admitted The Spider to the back room. + +When confronted with the torn slip of paper on which was written the +address of White-Eye, Baxter admitted that he knew of the rendezvous of +the gunmen, but refused to explain why he had their address in his +possession, and he put a quietus on that phase of the situation by +asking the police why they had not raided the place themselves before +the shooting occurred, as they seemed to have known of it for several +months. Eventually Baxter and the police "fixed it up." The gambler +did a thriving business through the notoriety the affair had given him. +Many came to see the rooms where The Spider had made his last venomous +fight, men who had never turned a card in their lives, and who doubted +the rumors current in the sporting world until actually in the room and +listening to the faro-dealer's cold and impassive account of the men +and the battle. And more often than not these curious souls, who came +to scoff, remained to play. + +Pete, convalescing rapidly, had asked day after day if he might not be +allowed to sit with the other patients who, warmly blanketed, enjoyed +the sunshine on the wide veranda overlooking the city. One morning +Andover gave his consent, restricting Pete's first visit to thirty +minutes. Pete was only too glad of a respite from the monotony of +back-rest and pillow, bare walls, and the essential but soul-wearying +regularity of professional attention. + +Not until Doris had helped him into the wheel-chair did he realize how +weak he was. + +Out on the veranda, his weakness, the pallid faces of the other +convalescents, and even Doris herself, were forgotten as he gazed +across the city and beyond to the sunlit spaces softly glowing beneath +a cloudless sky. Sunlight! He had never known how much it meant, +until then. He breathed deep. His dark eyes closed. Life, which he +had hitherto valued only through sheer animal instinct, seemed to mean +so much more than he had ever imagined it could. Yet not in any +definite way, nor through contemplating any definite attainment. It +was simply good to be alive--to feel the pleasant, natural warmth of +the sun--to breathe the clear, keen air. And all his curiosity as to +what the world might look like--for to one who has come out of the +eternal shadows the world is ever strange--was drowned in the supreme +indifference of absolute ease and rest. It seemed to him as though he +were floating midway between the earth and the sun, not in a weird +dream wherein the subconscious mind says, "This is not real; I know +that I dream"; but actual, in that Pete could feel nothing above nor +beneath him. Being of a very practical turn of mind he straightway +opened his eyes and was at once conscious of the arm of the wheel-chair +beneath his hand and the blanket across his knees. + +He was not aware that some of the patients were gazing at him +curiously--that gossip had passed his name from room to room and that +the papers had that morning printed a sort of revised sequel to the +original story of "The Spider Mystery"--as they chose to call it. + +Doris glanced at her watch. "We'll have to go in," she said, rising +and adjusting Pete's pillow. + +"Oh, shucks! We jest come out!" + +"You've been asleep," said Doris. + +Pete shook his head. "Nope. But I sure did git one good rest. Doc +Andover calls this a vacation, eh? Well, then I guess I got to go back +to work--and it sure is work, holdin' down that bed in there--and +nothin' to do but sleep and eat and--but it ain't so bad when you're +there. Now that there cow-bunny with the front teeth--" + +"S-sh!" Doris flushed, and Pete glanced around, realizing that they +were not alone. + +"Well, I reckon we got to go back to the corral!" Pete sighed heavily. + +Back in bed he watched Doris as she made a notation on the chart of his +"case." He frowned irritably when she took his temperature. + +"The doctor will want to know how you stood your first outing," she +said, smiling. + +Pete wriggled the little glass thermometer round in his mouth until it +stuck up at an assertive angle, as some men hold a cigar, and glanced +mischievously at his nurse. "Why don't you light it?" he mumbled. + +Doris tried not to laugh as she took the thermometer, glanced at it, +and charted a slight rise in the patient's temperature. + +"Puttin' it in that glass of water to cool it off?" queried Pete. + +She smiled as she carefully charted the temperature line. + +"Kin I look at it?" queried Pete. + +She gave the chart to him and he studied it frowningly. "What's this +here that looks like a range of mountains ?" he asked. + +"Your temperature." And she explained the meaning of the wavering line. + +"Gee! Back here I sure was climbin' the high hills! That's a +interestin' tally-sheet." + +Pete saw a peculiar expression in her gray eyes. It was as though she +were searching for something beneath the surface of his superficial +humor; for she knew that there was something that he wanted to +say--something entirely alien to these chance pleasantries. She all +but anticipated his question. + +"Would you mind tellin' me somethin'?" he queried abruptly. + +"No. If there is anything that I can tell you." + +"I was wonderin' who was payin' for this here private room--and reg'lar +nurse. I been sizin' up things--and folks like me don't get such fancy +trimmin's without payin'." + +"Why--it was your--your father." + +Pete sat up quickly. "My father! I ain't got no father. I--I reckon +somebody got things twisted." + +"Why, the papers"--and Doris bit her lip--"I mean Miss Howard, the +nurse who was here that night . . ." + +"When The Spider cashed in?" + +Doris nodded. + +"The Spider wasn't my father. But I guess mebby that nurse thought he +was, and got things mixed." + +"The house-doctor would not have had him brought up here if he had +thought he was any one else." + +"So The Spider said he was my father--so he could git to see me!" Pete +seemed to be talking to himself. "Was he the friend you was tellin' me +called regular?" + +"Yes. I don't know, but I think he paid for your room and the +operation." + +"Don't they make those operations on folks, anyhow, if they ain't got +money?" + +"Yes, but in your case it was a very difficult and dangerous operation. +I saw that Dr. Andover hardly wanted to take the risk." + +"So The Spider pays for everything!" Pete shook his head. "I don't +just sabe." + +"I saw him watching you once--when you were asleep," said Doris. "He +seemed terribly anxious. I was afraid of him--and I felt sorry for +him--" + +Pete lay back and stared at the opposite wall. "He sure was game!" he +murmured. "And he was my friend." + +Pete turned his head quickly as Doris stepped toward the door. "Could +you git me some of them papers--about The Spider?" + +"Yes," she answered hesitatingly, as she left the room. + +Pete closed his eyes. He could see The Spider standing beside his bed +supported by two internes, dying on his feet, fighting for breath as he +told Pete to "see that party--in the letter"--and "that some one had +trailed him too close." And "close the cases," The Spider had said. +The game was ended. + +When Doris came in again Pete was asleep. She laid a folded newspaper +by his pillow, gazed at him for a moment, and stepped softly from the +room. + +At noon she brought his luncheon. When she came back for the tray she +noticed that he had not eaten, nor would he talk while she was there. +But that evening he seemed more like himself. After she had taken his +temperature he jokingly asked her if he bit that there little glass +dingus in two what would happen?" + +"Why, I'd have to buy a new one," she replied, smiling. + +Pete's face expressed surprise. "Say!" he queried, sitting up, "did +The Spider pay you for bein' my private nurse, too?" + +"He must have made some arrangement with Dr. Andover. He put me in +charge of your case." + +"But don't you git anything extra for--for smilin' at +folks--and--coaxin' 'em to eat--and wastin' your time botherin' around +'em most all day?" + +"The hospital gets the extra money. I get my usual salary." + +"You ain't mad at me, be you?" + +"Why, no, why should I be?" + +"I dunno. I reckon I talk kind of rough--and that mebby I said +somethin'--but--would you mind if I was to tell you somethin'. I been +thinkin' about it ever since you brung that paper. It's somethin' +mighty important--and--" + +"Your dinner is getting cold," said Doris. + +"Shucks! I jest got to tell somebody! Did you read what was in that +paper?" + +Doris nodded. + +"About that fella called Steve Gary that The Spider bumped off in that +gamblin'-joint?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, if that's right--and the papers ain't got things twisted, like +when they said The Spider was my father--why, if it _was_ Steve Gary--I +kin go back to the Concho and kind o' start over ag'in." + +"I don't understand." + +"'Course you don't! You see, me and Gary mixed onct--and--" + +Doris' gray eyes grew big as Pete spoke rapidly of his early life, of +the horse-trader, of Annersley and Bailey and Montoya, and young Andy +White--characters who passed swiftly before her vision as she followed +Pete's fortunes up to the moment when he was brought into the hospital. +And presently she understood that he was trying to tell her that if the +newspaper report was authentic he was a free man. His eagerness to +vindicate himself was only too apparent. + +Suddenly he ceased talking. The animation died from his dark eyes. +"Mebby it wa'n't the same Steve Gary," he said. + +"If it had been, you mean that you could go back to your friends--and +there would be no trouble--?" + +Pete nodded. "But I don't know." + +"Is there any way of finding out--before you leave here?" she asked. + +"I might write a letter and ask Jim Bailey, or Andy. They would know." + +"I'll get you a pen and paper." + +Pete flushed. "Would you mind writin' it for me? I ain't no reg'lar, +professional writer. Pop Annersley learned me some--but I reckon Jim +could read your writin' better." + +"Of course I'll write the letter, if you want me to. If you'll just +tell me what you wish to say I'll take it down on this pad and copy it +in my room." + +"Can't you write it here? Mebby we might want to change somethin'." + +"Well, if you'll eat your dinner--" And Doris went for pen and paper. +When she returned she found that Pete had stacked the dishes in a +perilous pyramid on the floor, that the bed-tray might serve as a table +on which to write. + +He watched her curiously as she unscrewed the cap of her fountain pen +and dated the letter. + +"Jim Bailey, Concho--that's over in Arizona," he said, then he +hesitated. "I reckon I got to tell you the whole thing first and mebby +you kin put it down after I git through." Doris saw him eying the pen +intently. "You didn't fetch the ink," he said suddenly. + +Doris laughed as she explained the fountain pen to him. Then she +listened while he told her what to say. + +The letter written, Doris went to her room. Pete lay thinking of her +pleasant gray eyes and the way that she smiled understandingly and +nodded--"When most folks," he soliloquized, "would say something or ask +you what you was drivin' at." + +To him she was an altogether wonderful person, so quietly cheerful, +natural, and unobtrusively competent . . . Then, through some queer +trick of memory, Boca's face was visioned to him and his thoughts were +of the desert, of men and horses and a far sky-line. "I got to get out +of here," he told himself sleepily. And he wondered if he would ever +see Doris Gray again after he left the hospital. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +A PUZZLE GAME + +Dr. Andover, brisk and professionally cheerful, was telling Pete that +so far as he was concerned he could not do anything more for him, +except to advise him to be careful about lifting or straining--to take +it easy for at least a month--and to do no hard riding until the +incision was thoroughly healed. "You'll know when you are really fit," +he said, smiling, "because your back will tell you better than I can. +You're a mighty fortunate young man!" + +"You sure fixed me up fine, Doc. You was sayin' I could leave here +next week?" + +"Yes, if you keep on improving--and I can't see why you should not. +And I don't have to tell you to thank Miss Gray for what she has done +for you. If it hadn't been for her, my boy, I doubt that you would be +here!" + +"She sure is one jim-dandy nurse." + +"She is more than that, young man." Andover cleared his throat. +"There's one little matter that I thought best not to mention until you +were--pretty well out of the woods. I suppose you know that the +authorities will want to--er--talk with you about that shooting +scrape--that chap that was found somewhere out in the desert. The +chief of detectives asked me the other day when you would be around +again." + +"So, when I git out of here they're goin' to arrest me?" + +"Well, frankly, you are under arrest now. I thought it best that you +should know it now. In a general way I gathered that the police +suspect you of having had a hand in the killing of that man who was +found near Sanborn." + +"Well, they can wait till hell freezes afore I'll tell 'em," said Pete. + +"And, meanwhile, you'll also have to--er--wait, I imagine. Have you +any friends who might--er--use their influence? I think you might get +out on bail. I can't say." + +"Nope." + +"Then the best thing that you can do is to tell a straight story and +hope that the authorities will believe you. Well, I've got to go. By +the way, how are you fixed financially? Just let me know if you want +anything?" + +"Thanks, Doc. From what you say I reckon the county will be payin' my +board." + +"I hope not. But you'll need some clothing and underwear--the things +you had on are--" + +Pete nodded. + +"Don't hesitate to ask me,"--and Andover rose. "Your +friend--er--Ewell--arranged for any little contingency that might +arise." + +"Then I kin go most any time?" queried Pete. + +"We'll see how you are feeling next week. Meanwhile keep out in the +sun--but wrap up well. Good-bye!" + +Pete realized that to make a fresh start in life he would have to begin +at the bottom. + +He had ever been inclined to look forward rather than backward--to put +each day's happenings behind him as mere incidents in his general +progress--and he began to realize that these happenings had accumulated +to a bulk that could not be ignored, if the fresh start that he +contemplated were to be made successfully. He recalled how he had felt +when he had squared himself with Roth for that six-gun. But the +surreptitious taking of the six-gun had been rather a mistake than a +deliberate intent to steal. And Pete tried to justify himself with the +thought that all his subsequent trouble had been the result of mistakes +due to conditions thrust upon him by a fate which had slowly driven him +to his present untenable position--that of a fugitive from the law, +without money and without friends. He came to the bitter conclusion +that his whole life had been a mistake--possibly not through his own +initiative, but a mistake nevertheless. He knew that his only course +was to retrace and untangle the snarl of events in which his feet were +snared. Accustomed to rely upon his own efforts--he had always been +able to make his living--he suddenly realized the potency of money; +that money could alleviate suffering, influence authority, command +freedom--at least temporary freedom--and even in some instances save +life itself. + +Yet it was characteristic of Pete that he did not regret anything that +he had done, in a moral sense. He had made mistakes--and he would have +to pay for them--but only once. He would not make these mistakes +again. A man was a fool who deliberately rode his horse into the same +box canon twice. + +Pete wondered if his letter to Jim Bailey had been received and what +Bailey's answer would be. The letter must have reached Bailey by this +time. And then Pete thought of The Spider's note, advising him to call +at the Stockmen's Security; and of The Spider's peculiar insistence +that he do so--that Hodges would "use him square." + +Pete wondered what it all signified. He knew that The Spider had money +deposited with the Stockmen's Security. The request had something to +do with money, without doubt. Perhaps The Spider had wished him to +attend to some matter of trust--for Pete was aware that The Spider had +trusted him, and had said so, almost with his last breath. But Pete +hesitated to become entangled further in The Spider's affairs. He did +not intend to make a second mistake of that kind. + +Monday of the following week Pete was out on the veranda--listening to +little Ruth, a blue-eyed baby patient who as gravely explained the +mysteries of a wonderful puzzle game of pasteboard cows and horses and +a farmyard "most all cut to pieces," as Ruth said, when Doris stepped +from the hall doorway and, glancing about, finally discovered Pete in +the far corner of the veranda--deeply absorbed in searching for the +hind leg of a noble horse to which little Ruth had insisted upon +attaching the sedate and ignoble hind quarters of a maternal cow. So +intent were they upon their game that neither of them saw Doris as she +moved toward them, nodding brightly to many convalescents seated about +the veranda. + +"Whoa!" said Pete, as Ruth disarranged the noble steed in her eagerness +to fit the bit of pasteboard Pete had handed to her. "Now, I reckon +he'll stand till we find that barn-door and the water-trough. Do you +reckon he wants a drink?" + +"He looks very firsty," said Ruth. + +"Mebby he's hungry, too,"--and Pete found the segment of a mechanically +correct haystack. + +"No!" cried Ruth positively, taking the bit of haystack from Pete; +"wet's put some hay in his house." + +"Then that there cow'll git it--and she's plumb fed up already." + +"Den I give 'at 'ittle cow his breakfuss,"--and the solicitous Ruth +placed the section of haystack within easy reach of a wide-eyed and +slightly disjointed calf--evidently the offspring of the well-fed cow, +judging from the paint-markings of each. + +But suddenly little Ruth's face lost its sunshine. Her mouth quivered. +Pete glanced up at her, his dark eyes questioning. + +"There's lots more hay," he stammered, "for all of 'em." + +"It hurted me," sobbed Ruth. + +"Your foot?" Pete glanced down at the child's bandaged foot, and then +looked quickly away. + +"Ess. It hurted me--and oo didn't hit it." + +"I'll bet it was that doggone ole cow! Let's git her out of this here +corral and turn her loose!" Pete shuffled the cow into a disjointed +heap. "Now she's turned loose--and she won't come back." + +Ruth ceased sobbing and turned to gaze at Doris, who patted her head +and smiled. "We was--stockin' up our ranch," Pete explained almost +apologetically. "Ruth and me is pardners." + +Doris gazed at Pete, her gray eyes warm with a peculiar light. "It's +awfully nice of you to amuse Ruth." + +"Amuse her! My Gosh! Miss Gray, she's doin' the amusin'! When we're +visitin' like this, I plumb forgit--everything." + +"Here's a letter for you," said Doris. "I thought that perhaps you +might want to have it as soon as possible." + +"Thanks, Miss Gray. I reckon it's from Jim Bailey. I--" Pete tore off +the end of the envelope with trembling fingers. Little Ruth watched +him curiously. Doris had turned away and was looking out across the +city. A tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. "Make Pete play wif me," said +Ruth. "My cow's all broke." + +Pete glanced up, slowly slid the unread letter back into the envelope +and tucked it into his shirt. "You bet we'll find that cow if we have +to comb every draw on the ranch! Hello, pardner! Here's her ole head. +She was sure enough investigatin' that there haystack." + +Doris turned away. There was a tense throbbing in her throat as she +moved back to the doorway. Despite herself she glanced back for an +instant. The dark head and the golden head were together over the +wonderful puzzle picture. Just why Pete should look up then could +hardly be explained by either himself or Doris. He waved his hand +boyishly. Doris turned and walked rapidly down the hallway. Her +emotion irritated her. Why should she feel so absolutely silly and +sentimental because a patient, who really meant nothing to her aside +from her profession, should choose to play puzzle picture with a +crippled child, that he might forget for a while his very identity and +those terrible happenings? Had he not said so? And yet he had put +aside the letter that might mean much to him, that he might make Little +Ruth forget her pain in searching for a dismembered pasteboard cow. + +Doris glanced in as she passed Pete's room. Two men were standing +there, expressing in their impatient attitudes that they had expected +to find some one in the room. She knew who they were--men from the +police station--for she had seen them before. + +"You were looking for Mr. Annersley?" she asked. + +"Yes, mam. We got a little business--" + +"He's out on the veranda, playing puzzle picture with a little girl +patient." + +"Well, we got a puzzle picture for him--" began one of the men, but +Doris, her eyes flashing, interrupted him. + +"Dr. Andover left word that he does not want Mr. Annersley to see +visitors without his permission." + +"Reckon we can see him, miss. I had a talk with Doc Andover." + +"Then let me call Mr. Annersley, please. There are so many--patients +out there." + +"All right, miss." + +Doris took Pete's place as she told him. Little Ruth entered a +demurrer, although she liked Doris. "Pete knew all about forces and +cows. He must come wight back . . ." + +"What a beautiful bossy!" said Doris as Ruth rearranged the slightly +disjointed cow. + +"Dat a _cow_," said Ruth positively. "Pete says dat a _cow_!" + +"And what a wonderful pony!" + +"Dat a _force_, Miss Dowis. Pete say dat a force." + +It was evident to Doris that Pete was an authority, not without honor +in his own country, and an authority not to be questioned, for Ruth +gravely informed Doris that Pete could "wide" and "wope" and knew +everything about "forces" and "cows." + +Meanwhile Pete, seated on the edge of his cot, was telling the +plain-clothes men that he was willing to go with them whenever they +were ready, stipulating, however, that he wanted to visit the +Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank first, and as soon as possible. +Incidentally he stubbornly refused to admit that he had anything to do +with the killing of Brent, whom the sheriff of Sanborn had finally +identified as the aforetime foreman of the Olla. + +"There's nothing personal about this, young fella," said one of the men +as Pete's dark eyes blinked somberly. "It's our business, that's all." + +"And it's a dam' crawlin' business," asserted Pete. "You couldn't even +let The Spider cross over peaceful." + +"I reckon he earned all he got," said one of the men. + +"Mebby. But it took three fast guns to git him--and he put _them_ out +of business first. I'd 'a' liked to seen some of you rubber-heeled +heifers tryin' to put the irons on him." + +"That kind of talk won't do you no good when you're on the stand, young +fella. It ain't likely that Sam Brent was your first job. Your record +reads pretty strong for a kid." + +"Meanin' Gary? Well, about Gary"--Pete fumbled in his shirt. "I got a +letter here" . . . He studied the closely written sheet for a few +seconds, then his face cleared. "Jest run your eye over that. It's +from Jim Bailey, who used to be my fo'man on the Concho." + +The officers read the letter, one gazing over the other's shoulder, +"Who's this Jim Bailey, anyhow?" + +"He's a white man--fo'man of the Concho, and my boss, onct." + +"Well, you're lucky if what he says is so. But that don't square you +with the other deal." + +"There's only one man that could do that," said Pete. "And I reckon he +ain't ridin' where you could git him." + +"That's all right, Annersley. But even if you didn't get Brent, you +were on that job. You were running with a tough bunch." + +"Who's got my gun?" queried Pete abruptly. + +"It's over to the station with the rest of your stuff." + +"Well, it wa'n't a forty-five that put Brent out of business. My gun +is." + +"You can tell that to the sheriff of Sanborn County. And you'll have a +hard time proving that you never packed any other gun." + +"You say it's the sheriff of Sanborn County that'll be wantin' to know?" + +"Yes. We're holding you for him." + +"That's different. I reckon I kin talk to _him_." + +"Well, you'll get a chance. He's in town---waiting to take you over to +Sanborn." + +"I sure would like to have a talk with him," said Pete. "Would you +mind tellin' him that?" + +"Why--no. We'll tell him." + +"'Cause I aim to take a little walk this afternoon," asserted Pete, +"and mebby he'd kind o' like to keep me comp'ny." + +"You'll have company--if you take a walk," said one of the detectives +significantly. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS + +Pete did not return to the veranda to finish his puzzle game with +little Ruth. He smiled rather grimly as he realized that he had a +puzzle game of his own to solve. He lay on the cot and his eyes closed +as he reviewed the vivid events in his life, from the beginning of the +trail, at Concho, to its end, here in El Paso. It seemed to spread out +before him like a great map: the desert and its towns, the hills and +mesas, trails and highways over which men scurried like black and red +ants, commingling, separating, hastening off at queer tangents, meeting +in combat, disappearing in crevices, reappearing and setting off again +in haste, searching for food, bearing strange burdens, scrambling +blindly over obstacles--collectively without seeming purpose--yet +individually bent upon some quest, impetuous and headstrong in their +strange activities. "And gittin' nowhere," soliloquized Pete, "except +in trouble." + +He thought of the letter from Bailey, and, sitting up, re-read it +slowly. So Steve Gary had survived, only to meet the inevitable end of +his kind. Well, Gary was always hunting trouble . . . Roth, the +storekeeper at Concho, ought to have the number of that gun which Pete +packed. If the sheriff of Sanborn was an old-timer he would know that +a man who packed a gun for business reasons did not go round the +country experimenting with different makes and calibers. Only the +"showcase" boys in the towns swapped guns. Ed Brevoort had always used +a Luger. Pete wondered if there had been any evidence of the caliber +of the bullet which had killed Brent. If the sheriff were an old-timer +such evidence would not be overlooked. + +Pete got up and wandered out to the veranda. The place was deserted. +He suddenly realized that those who were able had gone to their noon +meal. He had forgotten about that. He walked back to his room and sat +on the edge of his cot. He was lonesome and dispirited. He was not +hungry, but he felt decidedly empty. This was the first time that +Doris had allowed him to miss a meal, and it was her fault! She might +have called him. But what did she care? In raw justice to her--why +_should_ she care? + +Pete's brooding eyes brightened as Doris came in with a tray. She had +thought that he had rather have his dinner there. "I noticed that you +did not come down with the others," she said. + +Pete was angry with himself. Adam-like he said he wasn't hungry anyhow. + +"Then I'll take it back," said Doris sweetly, + +Adam-like, Pete decided that he was hungry. "Miss Gray," he blurted, +"I--I'm a doggone short-horn! I'm goin' to eat. I sure want to square +myself." + +"For what?" + +Doris was gazing at him with a serene directness that made him feel +that his clothing was several sizes too large for him. He realized +that generalities would hardly serve his turn just then. + +"I was settin' here feelin' sore at the whole doggone outfit," he +explained. "Sore at you--and everybody." + +"Well?" said Doris unsmilingly. + +"I'm askin' you to forgit that I was sore at you." Pete was not +ordinarily of an apologetic turn, and he felt that he pretty thoroughly +squared himself. + +"It really doesn't matter," said Doris, as she placed his tray on the +table and turned to go. + +"I reckon you're right." And his dark eyes grew moody again. + +"There's a man in the reception-room waiting to see you," said Doris. +"I told him you were having your dinner." + +"Another one, eh? Oh, I was forgittin'. I got a letter from Jim +Bailey"--Pete fumbled in his shirt--"and I thought mebby--" + +"I hope it's good news." + +"It sure is! Would you mind readin' it--to yourself--sometime?" + +"I--think I'd rather not," said Doris hesitatingly. + +Pete's face showed so plainly that he was hurt that Doris regretted her +refusal to read the letter. To make matters worse--for himself--Pete +asked that exceedingly irritating and youthful question, "Why?" which +elicits that distinctly unsatisfactory feminine answer, "Because." +That lively team "Why" and "Because" have run away with more chariots +of romance, upset more matrimonial bandwagons, and spilled more beans +than all the other questions and answers men and women have uttered +since that immemorial hour when Adam made the mistake of asking Eve why +she insisted upon his eating an apple right after breakfast. + +Doris was not indifferent to his request that she read the letter, but +she was unwilling to let Pete know it, and a little fearful that he +might interpret her interest for just what it was--the evidence of a +greater solicitude for his welfare than she cared to have him know. + +Pete, like most lusty sons of saddle-leather, shied at even the shadow +of sentiment--in this instance shying at his own shadow. He rode wide +of the issue, turning from the pleasant vista of who knows what +imaginings, to face the imperative challenge of immediate necessity, +which was, first, to eat something, and then to meet the man who waited +for him downstairs who, Pete surmised, was the sheriff of Sanborn +County. + +"If you don't mind tellin' him I'll come down as soon as I eat," said +Pete as he pulled up a chair. + +Doris nodded and turned to leave. Pete glanced up. She had not gone. +"Your letter,"--and Doris proffered the letter which he had left on the +cot. Pete was about to take it when he glanced up at her. She was +smiling at him. "You don't know how funny you look when you frown and +act--like--like a spoiled child," she laughed. "Aren't you ashamed of +yourself?" + +"I--I reckon I am," said Pete, grinning boyishly. + +"Ashamed of yourself?" + +"Nope! A spoiled kid, like you said. And I ain't forgittin' who +spoiled me." + +The letter, the man downstairs and all that his presence implied, past +and future possibilities, were forgotten in the brief glance that Doris +gave him as she turned in the doorway. And glory-be, she had taken the +letter with her! Pete gazed about the room to make sure that he was +not dreaming. No, the letter had disappeared--and but a moment ago +Doris had had it. And she still had it. "Well, she'll know I got one +or two friends, anyhow," reflected Pete as he ate his dinner. "When +she sees how Jim talks--and what he said Ma Bailey has to say to +me--mebby she'll--mebby--Doggone it! Most like she'll just hand it +back and smile and say she's mighty glad--and--but that ain't no sign +that I'm the only guy that ever got shot up, and fixed up, and turned +loose by a sure-enough angel . . . Nope! She ain't a angel--she's +real folks, like Ma Bailey and Andy and Jim. If I ain't darned careful +I'm like to find I done rid my hoss into a gopher-hole and got throwed +bad." + +Meanwhile "the man downstairs" was doing some thinking himself. That +morning he had visited police headquarters and inspected Pete's gun and +belongings--noting especially the hand-carved holster and the +heavy-caliber gun, the factory number of which he jotted down in his +notebook. Incidentally he had borrowed a Luger automatic from the +miscellaneous collection of weapons taken from criminals, assured +himself that it was not loaded, and slipped it into his coat-pocket. +Later he had talked with the officials, visited the Mexican +lodging-house, where he had obtained a description of the man who had +occupied the room with Pete, and stopping at a restaurant for coffee +and doughnuts, had finally arrived at the hospital prepared to hear +what young Annersley had to say for himself. + +Sheriff Jim Owen, unofficially designated as "Sunny Jim" because of an +amiable disposition, which in no way affected his official +responsibilities, was a dyed-in-the-wool, hair-cinched, range-branded, +double-fisted official, who scorned nickel-plated firearms, hard-boiled +hats, fancy drinks, and smiled his contempt for the rubber-heeled +methods of the city police. Sheriff Owen had no rubber-heeled +tendencies. He was frankness itself, both in peace and in war. It was +once said of him, by a lank humorist of Sanborn, that Jim Owen never +wasted any time palaverin' when _he_ was flirtin' with death. That he +just met you with a gun in one hand and a smile in the other, and you +could take your choice--or both, if you was wishful. + +The sheriff was thinking, his hands crossed upon his rotund stomach and +his bowed legs as near crossed as they could ever be without an +operation. He was pretty well satisfied that the man upstairs, who +that pretty little nurse had said would be down in a few minutes, had +not killed Sam Brent. He had a few pertinent reasons for this +conclusion. First, Brent had been killed by a thirty-caliber, +soft-nosed bullet, which the sheriff had in his vest-pocket. Then, +from what he had been told, he judged that the man who actually killed +Brent would not have remained in plain sight in the lodging-house +window while his companion made his get-away. This act alone seemed to +indicate that of the two the man who had escaped was in the greater +danger if apprehended, and that young Annersley had generously offered +to cover his retreat so far as possible. Then, from the lodging-house +keeper's description of the other man, Jim Owen concluded that he was +either Ed Brevoort or Slim Harper, both of whom were known to have been +riding for the Olla. And the sheriff knew something of Brevoort's +record. + +Incidentally Sheriff Owen also looked up Pete's record. He determined +to get Pete's story and compare it with what the newspapers said and +see how close this combined evidence came to his own theory of the +killing of Brent. He was mentally piecing together possibilities and +probabilities, and the exact evidence he had, when Pete walked into the +reception-room. + +"Have a chair," said Sheriff Owen. "I got one." + +"I'm Pete Annersley," said Pete. "Did you want to see me?" + +"Thought I'd call and introduce myself. I'm Jim Owen to my friends. +I'm sheriff of Sanborn County to others." + +"All right, Mr. Owen," said Pete, smiling in spite of himself. + +"That's the idea--only make it Jim. Did you ever use one of these?" +And suddenly Sheriff Owen had a Luger automatic in his hand. Pete +wondered that a man as fat as the little sheriff could pull a gun so +quickly. + +"Why--no. I ain't got no use for one of them doggone stutterin' +smoke-wagons." + +"Here, too," said Owen, slipping the Luger back into his pocket. +"Never shot one of 'em in my life. Ever try one?" + +"I--" Pete caught himself on the verge of saying that he had tried Ed +Brevoort's Luger once. He realized in a flash how close the sheriff +had come to trapping him. "I never took to them automatics," he +asserted lamely. + +Pete had dodged the question. On the face of it this looked as though +Pete might have been trying to shield himself by disclaiming any +knowledge of that kind of weapon. But Owen knew the type of man he was +talking to--knew that he would shield a companion even more quickly +than he would shield himself. + +"Sam Brent was killed by a bullet from a Luger," stated Owen. + +Pete's face expressed just the faintest shade of relief, but he said +nothing. + +"I got the bullet here in my pocket. Want to see it?" And before Pete +could reply, the sheriff fished out the flattened and twisted bullet +and handed it to Pete, who turned it over and over, gazing at it +curiously. + +"Spreads out most as big as a forty-five," said Pete, handing it back. + +"Yes--but it acts different. Travels faster--and takes more along with +it. Lot of 'em used in Texas and across the line. Ever have words +with Sam Brent?" + +"No. Got along with him all right." + +"Did he pay your wages reg'lar?" + +"Yes." + +"Ever have any trouble with a man named Steve Gary?" + +"Yes, but he's--" + +"I know. Used to know the man that got him. Wizard with a gun. +Meaner than dirt--" + +"Hold on!" said Pete. "He was my friend." + +"--to most folks," continued the rotund sheriff. "But I've heard said +he'd do anything for a man he liked. Trouble with him was he didn't +like anybody." + +"Mebby he didn't," said Pete indifferently. + +"Because he couldn't trust anybody. Ever eat ice-cream?" + +"Who--me?" + +The sheriff smiled and nodded. + +"Nope. Ma Bailey made some onct, but--" + +"Let's go out and get some. It's cooling and refreshing and +it's--ice-cream. Got a hat?" + +"Up in my room." + +"Go get it. I'll wait." + +"You mean?"--and Pete hesitated. + +"I don't mean anything. Heard you was going for a walk this afternoon. +Thought I'd come along. Want to get acquainted. Lonesome. Nobody to +talk to. Get your hat." + +"Suppose I was to make a break--when we git outside?" said Pete. + +Sheriff Owen smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That little nurse, +the one with the gray eyes--that said you were having dinner--is she +your reg'lar nurse?" + +Pete nodded. + +"Well, you won't," said the sheriff. + +"How's that?" queried Pete. + +"I talked with her. Sensible girl. Break _her_ all up if her patient +was to make a break:--because"--and the sheriff's eyes ceased to +twinkle, although he still smiled--"because I'd have to break _you_ all +up. Hate to do it. Hate to make her feel bad." + +"Oh, shucks," said Pete. + +"You're right--shucks. That's what you'd look like. I pack a +forty-five--same as you. We can buy a hat--" + +"I'll get it." And Pete left the room. + +He could not quite understand Sheriff Owen. In fact Pete did not come +half so close to understanding him as the sheriff came to understanding +Pete. But Pete understood one thing--and that was that Jim Owen was +not an easy proposition to fool with. + +"Now where do we head for?" said Owen as they stood at the foot of the +hospital steps. + +"I was goin' to the bank--the Stockmen's Security." + +"Good bank. You couldn't do better. Know old E.H. myself. Used to +know him better--before he got rich. No--this way. Short cut. You +got to get acquainted with your legs again, eh? Had a close call. A +little shaky?" + +"I reckon I kin make it." + +"Call a cab if you say the word." + +"I--I figured I could walk," said Pete, biting his lips. But a few +more steps convinced him that the sheriff was taking no risk whatever +in allowing him his liberty. + +"Like to see old E.H. myself," stated the sheriff. "Never rode in a +cab in my life. Let's try one." + +And the sprightly sheriff of Sanborn County straightway hailed a +languorous cabby who sat dozing on the "high seat" of a coupe to which +was attached the most voluptuous-looking white horse that Pete had ever +seen. Evidently the "hospital stand" was a prosperous center. + +"We want to go to the Stockmen's Security Bank," said the sheriff, as +the coupe drew up to the curb. The driver nodded. + +Pete leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. Owen +glanced at him and shook his head. There was nothing vicious or brutal +in that face. It was not the face of a killer. + +Pete sat up suddenly. "I was forgittin' I was broke," and he turned to +Owen. + +"No. There's sixty-seven dollars and two-bits of yours over at the +station, along with your gun and a bundle of range clothes." + +"I forgot that." + +"Feel better?" + +"Fine--when I'm settin' still." + +"Well, we're here. Go right in. I'll wait." + +Pete entered the bank and inquired for the president, giving the +attendant his name in lieu of the card for which he was asked. He was +shown in almost immediately, and a man somewhat of The Spider's type +assured him that he was the president and, as he spoke, handed Pete a +slip of paper such as Pete had never before seen. + +"You're Peter Annersley?" queried Hodges. + +"Yes. What's this here?" + +"It's more money than I'd want to carry with me on the street," said +Hodges. "Have you anything that might identify you?" + +"What's the idee?" + +"Mr. Ewell had some money with us that he wished transferred to you, in +case anything happened to him. I guess you know what happened." Then +reflectively, "Jim was a queer one." + +"You mean The Spider wanted me to have this?" + +"Yes. That slip of paper represents just twenty-four thousand dollars +in currency. If you'll just endorse it--" + +"But it ain't my money!" said Pete. + +"You're a fool if you don't take it, young man. From what I have heard +you'll need it. It seems that Jim took a fancy to you. Said you had +played square with him--about that last deposit, I suppose. You don't +happen to have a letter with you, from him, I suppose, do you?" + +"I got this,"--and Pete showed President Hodges The Spider's note, +which Hodges read and returned. "That was like Jim. He wouldn't +listen to me." + +"And this was his money?" Pete was unable to realize the significance +of it all. + +"Yes. Now it's yours. You're lucky! Mighty lucky! Just endorse the +draft--right here. I'll have it cashed for you." + +"Write my name?" + +"Yes, your full name, here." + +"And I git twenty-four thousand dollars for this?" + +"If you want to carry that much around with you. I'd advise you to +deposit the draft and draw against it." + +"If it's mine, I reckon I'd like to jest git it in my hands onct, +anyhow. I'd like to see what that much money feels like." + +Pete slowly wrote his name, thinking of The Spider and Pop Annersley as +he did so. Hodges took the draft, pressed a button, and a clerk +appeared, took the draft, and presently returned with the money in gold +and bank-notes of large denomination. + +When he had gone out, Hodges turned to Pete. "What are you going to do +with it? It's none of my business--now. But Jim and I were +friends--and if I can do anything--" + +"I reckon I'll put it back in--to my name," said Pete. "I sure ain't +scared to leave it with you--for The Spider he weren't." + +Hodges smiled grimly, and pressed a button on his desk. "New account," +he told the clerk. + +Pete sighed heavily when the matter had been adjusted, the +identification signature slips signed, and the bank-book made out in +his name. + +Hodges himself introduced Pete at the teller's window, thanked Pete +officially for patronizing the bank, and shook hands with him. "Any +time you need funds, just come in--or write to me," said Hodges. +"Good-bye, and good luck." + +Pete stumbled out of the bank and down the steps to the sidewalk. He +was rich--worth twenty-four thousand dollars! But why had The Spider +left this money to him? Surely The Spider had had some other +friend--or some relative . . . ? + +"Step right in," said Sheriff Owen. "You look kind of white. Feeling +shaky?" + +"Some." + +"We want to go to the General Hospital," said the sheriff. + +Pete listened to the deliberate plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk of the white +mare's large and capable feet as the cab whirred softly along the +pavement. "I suppose you'll be takin' me over to Sanborn right soon," +he said finally. + +"Well, I expect I ought to get back to my family," said the sheriff. + +"I didn't kill Sam Brent," asserted Pete. + +"I never thought you did," said the sheriff, much to Pete's surprise. + +"Then what's the idee of doggin' me around like I was a blame coyote?" + +"Because you have been traveling in bad company, son. And some one in +that said company killed Sam Brent." + +"And I got to stand for it?" + +"Looks that way. I been all kinds of a fool at different times, but +I'm not fool enough to ask you who killed Sam Brent. But I advise you +to tell the judge and jury when the time comes." + +"That the only way I kin square myself?" + +"I don't say that. But it will help." + +"Then I don't say." + +"Thought you wouldn't. It's a case of circumstantial evidence. Brent +was found in that cactus forest near the station. The same night two +men rode into Sanborn and left their horses at the livery-stable. +These men took the train for El Paso, but jumped it at the crossing. +Later they were trailed to a rooming-house on Aliso Street. One of +them--and this is the queer part of it--got away after shooting his +pardner. The rubber heels in this town say these two men quarreled +about money--" + +"That's about all they know. Ed and me never--" + +"You don't mean Ed Brevoort, do you?" + +"There's more 'n one Ed in this country." + +"There sure is. Old E.H. Hodges--he's Ed; and there's Ed Smally on the +force here, and Ed Cummings, the preacher over to Sanborn. Lots of +Eds. See here, son. If you want to get out of a bad hole, the +quickest way is for you to tell a straight story. Save us both time. +Been visiting with you quite a spell." + +"Reckon we're here," said Pete as the cab stopped. + +"And I reckon you're glad of it. As I was saying, we been having quite +a visit--getting acquainted. Now if you haven't done anything the law +can hold you for, the more I know about what you have done the better +it will be for you. Think that over. If you can prove you didn't kill +Brent, then it's up to me to find out who did. Get a good sleep. I'll +drift round sometime to-morrow." + +Back in his room Pete lay trying to grasp the full significance of the +little bank-book in his pocket. He wondered who would stop him if he +were to walk out of the hospital that evening or the next morning, and +leave town. He got up and strode nervously back and forth, fighting a +recurrent temptation to make his escape. + +He happened to glance in the mirror above the washstand. "That's the +only fella that kin stop me," he told himself. And he thought of Ed +Brevoort and wondered where Brevoort was, and if he were in need of +money. + +Dr. Andover, making his afternoon rounds, stepped in briskly, glanced +at Pete's flushed face, and sitting beside him on the cot, took his +pulse and temperature with that professional celerity that makes the +busy physician. "A little temperature. Been out today?" + +"For a couple of hours." + +Andover nodded. "Well, young man, you get right into bed." + +The surgeon closed the door. Pete undressed grumblingly. + +"Now turn over. I want to look at your back. M-mm! Thought so. A +little feverish. Did you walk much?" + +"Nope! We took a rig. I was with the sheriff." + +"I see! Excitement was a little too much for you. You'll have to go +slow for a few days." + +"I'm feelin' all right," asserted Pete. + +"You think you are. How's your appetite?" + +"I ain't hungry." + +Andover nodded. "You'd better keep off your feet to-morrow." + +"Shucks, Doc! I'm sick of this here place!" + +Andover smiled. "Well, just between ourselves, so am I. I've been +here eight years. By the way, how would you like to take a ride with +me, next Thursday? I expect to motor out to Sanborn." + +"In that machine I seen you in the other day?" + +"Yes. New car. I'd like to try her out on a good straightaway--and +there's a pretty fair road up on this end of the mesa." + +"I'd sure like to go! Say, Doc, how much does one of them automobiles +cost?" + +"Oh, about three thousand, without extras." + +"How fast kin you go?" + +"Depends on the road. My car is guaranteed to do seventy-five on the +level." + +"Some stepper! You could git to Sanborn and back in a couple of hours." + +"Not quite. I figure it about a four-hour trip. I'd be glad to have +you along. Friend of mine tells me there's a thoroughbred saddle-horse +there that is going to be sold at auction. I've been advertising for a +horse for my daughter. You might look him over and tell me what you +think of him." + +"I reckon I know him already," said Pete. + +"How's that?" + +"'Cause they's no thoroughbred stock around Sanborn. If it's the one +I'm thinkin' about, it was left there by a friend of mine." + +"Oh--I see! I remember, now. Sanborn is where you--er--took the train +for El Paso?" + +"We left our hosses there--same as the paper said." + +"H-mm! Well, I suppose the horse is to be sold for charges. Sheriff's +sale, I understand." + +"Oh, you're safe in buyin' _him_ all right. And he sure is a good one." + +"Well, I'll speak to the chief. I imagine he'll let you go with me." + +Pete shook his head. "Nope. He wouldn't even if he had the say. But +the sheriff of Sanborn County has kind of invited me to go over there +for a spell. I guess he figured on leavin' here in a couple of days." + +"He can't take you till I certify that you're able to stand the +journey," said Andover brusquely. + +"Well, he's comin' to-morrow. I'm dead sick of stayin' here. Can't +you tell him I kin travel?" + +"We'll see how you feel to-morrow. Hello! Here's Miss Gray. What, +six o'clock! I had no idea . . . Yes, a little temperature, Miss +Gray. Too much excitement. A little surface inflammation--nothing +serious. A good night's rest and he'll be a new man. Good-night." + +Pete was glad to see Doris. Her mere presence was restful. He sighed +heavily, glanced up at her and smiled. "A little soup, Miss Gray. +It's awful excitin'. Slight surface inflammation on them boiled beets. +Nothin' serious--they ain't scorched. A good night's rest and the +cook'll be a new man tomorrow. Doc Andover is sure all right--but I +always feel like he was wearin' kid gloves and was afraid of gittin' +'em dirty, every time he comes in." + +Doris was not altogether pleased by Pete's levity and her face showed +it. She did not smile, but rearranged the things on the tray in a +preoccupied manner, and asked him if there was anything else he wanted. + +"Lemme see?" Pete frowned prodigiously. "Got salt and pepper and +butter and sugar; but I reckon you forgot somethin' that I'm wantin' a +whole lot." + +"What is it?" + +"You're forgittin' to smile." + +"I read that letter from Mr. Bailey." + +"I'm mighty glad you did, Miss Gray. I wanted you to know what was in +that letter. You'd sure like Ma Bailey, and Jim and Andy. Andy was my +pardner--when--afore I had that trouble with Steve Gary. No use tryin' +to step round it now. I reckon you know all about it." + +"And you will be going back to them--to your friends on the ranch?" + +"Well--I aim to. I got to go over to Sanborn first." + +"Sanborn? Do you mean--?" + +"Jest what you're thinkin', Miss Gray. I seen a spell back how you was +wonderin' that I could josh about my grub, and Doc Andover. Well, I +got in bad, and I ain't blamin' nobody--and I ain't blamin' myself--and +that's why I ain't hangin' my head about anything I done. And I ain't +kickin' because I got started on the wrong foot. _I'm_ figurin' how I +kin git started on the other foot--and keep a-goin'." + +"But why should you tell me about these things? I can't help you. And +it seems terrible to think about them. If I were a man--like Dr. +Andover--" + +"I reckon you're right," said Pete. "I got no business loadin' you up +with all my troubles. I'm goin' to quit it. Only you been kind o' +like a pardner--and it sure was lonesome, layin' here and thinkin' +about everything, and not sayin' a word to nobody. But I jest want you +to know that I didn't kill Sam Brent--but I sure would 'a' got him--if +somebody hadn't been a flash quicker than me, that night. Brent was +after the money we was packin', and he meant business." + +"You mean that--some one killed him in self-defense?" + +"That's the idee. It was him or us." + +"Then why don't you tell the police that?" + +"I sure aim to. But what they want to know is who the fella was that +got Brent." + +"But the papers say that the other man escaped." + +"Which is right." + +"And you won't tell who he is?" + +"Nope." + +"But why not--if it means your own freedom?" + +"Mebby because they wouldn't believe me anyhow." + +"I don't think that is your real reason. Oh, I forgot to return your +letter. I'll bring it next time." + +"I'll be goin' Thursday. Doc Andover he's goin' over to Sanborn and he +ast me to go along with him." + +"You mean--to stay?" + +"For a spell, anyhow. But I'm comin' back." + +Doris glanced at her wrist watch and realized that it was long past the +hour for the evening meal. "I'm going out to my sister's to-morrow, +for the day. I may not see you before you leave," + +Pete sat up. "Shucks! Well, I ain't sayin' thanks for what you done +for me, Miss Gray. 'Thanks' sounds plumb starvin' poor and rattlin', +side of what I want to tell you. I'd be a'most willin' to git shot +ag'in--" + +"Don't say that!" exclaimed Doris. + +"I would be shakin' hands with you," said Pete. "But this here is just +'Adios,' for I'm sure comin' back." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +"A LAND FAMILIAR" + +The following day Pete had a long talk with Sheriff Owen, a talk which +resulted in the sheriff's accompanying Andover and Pete on their desert +journey to Sanborn. + +Incidentally Pete gave his word that he would not try to escape. It +was significant, however, that the little sheriff expressed a +preference for the back seat, even before Andover, who had invited him +to make the journey, asked him if he cared to ride in front. The +sheriff's choice was more a matter of habit than preference, for, alone +upon the ample seat of the touring-car, he was shuttled ignominiously +from side to side and bounced and jolted until, during a stop for +water, he informed Andover that "he sure would have to pull leather to +stay with the car." + +The surgeon, a bit inclined to show off, did not hesitate to "step on +her," when the going was at all good. And any one familiar with the +road from El Paso to Sanborn is aware of just how good even the best +going is. Any one unfamiliar with that road is to be congratulated. + +Pete enjoyed the ride, as it brought him once more into the open +country. The car whirred on and on. It seemed to him as though he +were speeding from a nightmare of brick and stone and clamor into the +wide and sun-swept spaces of a land familiar and yet strange. + +They reached Sanborn about noon, having made about one hundred and +fifty miles in something like four hours. + +After a wash and a meal at the hotel, they strolled over to the +livery-stable to inspect the horse that Andover thought of buying. A +small crowd had collected at the stables, as the auction was advertised +to take place that afternoon. The sheriff himself started the bidding +on the thoroughbred, followed by the liveryman, who knew about what he +could get for the horse in El Paso. Andover raised his bid, which was +quickly raised in turn by the sheriff. Pete realized that Andover +really wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when the +bidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither the +liveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither of +them really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you want +him, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundred +less than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle--but +he's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle as +your gran'-mother." + +The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was a +pause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring with +his partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the price to two +hundred and fifty. + +"I'm through," said the liveryman. + +"Sold to--name, please--sold to Doctor John Andover for two hundred and +fifty dollars," said the auctioneer. Then, after a facetious +dissertation on thoroughbreds as against cow-ponies, Blue Smoke was led +out. Pete's face went red. Then he paled. He had not forgotten that +Blue Smoke was to be sold, but he had taken it for granted that he +would be allowed to reclaim him. Pete stepped over to the sheriff and +was about to enter a protest--offer to pay the board-bill against Blue +Smoke, when the bidding began with an offer of twenty-five dollars. +This was quickly run up to seventy-five when Pete promptly bid one +hundred, which was a fair auction price, although every man there knew +that Blue Smoke was worth more. + +"I'm bid one hundred twenty-five," cried the auctioneer, as a young, +bow-legged cowboy raised Pete's bid. + +"One-fifty," said Pete without hesitation. + +The sheriff glanced at Pete, wondering if he would borrow the money +from Andover to make good his bid. But Pete was watching the +auctioneer's gavel--which happened to be a short piece of rubber +garden-hose. "Third and last chance!" said the auctioneer. "Nobody +want that pony as a present? All right--goin', I say! Goin', I say +_ag'in_! Gone! B' Gosh! at one hundred an' fifty dollars, to that +young gent over there that looks like he could ride him. What's the +name?" + +"Pete Annersley." + +Several in the crowd turned and gazed curiously at Pete. But Pete's +eyes were upon Blue Smoke--his horse--the horse that had carried him +faithfully so many desert miles--a cow-pony that could "follow a +mountain trail all day and finish, a-steppin' high." + +"Much obliged for your advice about the thoroughbred," said Andover as +he stepped close to Pete. "Is that the pony you used to ride?" + +"He sure is. Say, Doc, I got the money to pay for him, but would you +mind writin' out a check. I ain't wise to this bankin' business yet." + +"Why--no. I'll do that. I--er--of course--I'm a little short myself. +New car--and this horse for my daughter. But I think I can manage. +You want to borrow a hundred and fifty?" + +"Say, Doc, you got me wrong! I got the makin's all right, but I don't +jest sabe rollin' 'em." Pete dug into his coat-pocket and fetched up a +check-book. "Same as you paid for your hoss with." + +"This is Stockmen's Security. You have an account there?" + +"That's what the president was callin' it. I call it dough. I got the +book." And Pete dug into his pocket again, watching Andover's face as +that astonished individual glanced at the deposit to Pete's credit. + +"Well, you're the limit!"--and the doctor whistled. "What will you +spring next?" + +"Oh, it's _mine_, all right. A friend was leavin' it to me. He's +crossed over." + +"I s-e-e. Twenty-four thousand dollars! Young man, that's more money +than I ever had at one time in my life." + +"Same here,"--and Pete grinned. "But it don't worry me none." + +"I'll make out the check for you." And Andover pulled out his fountain +pen and stepped over to the auctioneer's stand. Pete signed the check +and handed it to the auctioneer. + +"Don't know this man," said the auctioneer, as he glanced at the +signature. + +"I'll endorse it," volunteered Andover quickly. + +"All right, Doc." + +And Andover, whose account was as close to being overdrawn as it could +be and still remain an account, endorsed the check of a man worth +twenty-four thousand-odd dollars, and his endorsement was satisfactory +to the auctioneer. So much for professional egoism and six-cylinder +prestige. + +Sheriff Owen, who had kept a mild eye on Pete, had noted this +transaction. After Blue Smoke had been returned to the stables, he +took occasion to ask Pete if he were still a partner to the +understanding that he was on his honor not to attempt to escape. + +"I figured that deal was good till I got here," said Pete bluntly. + +"Just so, son. That's where my figuring stopped, likewise. Too much +open country. If you once threw a leg over that blue roan, I can see +where some of us would do some riding." + +"If I'd been thinkin' of leavin' you, it would 'a' been afore we got +here, sheriff." + +"So it's 'sheriff' now, and not Jim, eh?" + +"It sure is--if you're thinkin' o' lockin' me up. You treated me white +back there in El Paso--so I'm tellin' you that if you lock me up--and I +git a chanct, I'll sure vamose." + +Pete's assertion did not seem to displease the sheriff in the least. +To the contrary, he smiled affably. + +"That's fair enough. And if I _don't_ lock you up, but let you stay +over to the hotel, you'll hang around town till this thing is settled, +eh?" + +"I sure will." + +"Will you shake on that?" + +Pete thrust out his hand. "That goes, Jim." + +"Now you're talking sense, Pete. Reckon you better run along and see +what the Doc wants. He's waving to you." + +Andover sat in his car, drawing on his gloves. "I've arranged to have +the horse shipped to me by express. If you don't mind, I wish you +would see that he is loaded properly and that he has food and water +before the car leaves--that is"--and Andover cleared his throat--"if +you're around town tomorrow. The sheriff seems to allow you a pretty +free hand--possibly because I assured him that you were not physically +fit to--er--ride a horse. Since I saw that bank-book of yours, I've +been thinking more about your case. If I were you I would hire the +best legal talent in El Paso, and fight that case to a finish. You can +pay for it." + +"You mean for me to hire a lawyer to tell 'em I didn't kill Sam Brent?" + +"Not exactly that--but hire a lawyer to _prove_ to the judge and jury +that you didn't kill him." + +"Then a fella's got to pay to prove he didn't do somethin' that he's +arrested for, and never done?" + +"Often enough. And he's lucky if he has the money to do it. Think it +over--and let me know how you are getting along. Miss Gray will be +interested also." + +"All right. Thanks, Doc. I ain't forgittin' you folks." + +Andover waved his hand as he swung the car round and swept out of town. +Pete watched him as he sped out across the mesa. + +Sheriff Owen was standing in the livery-stable door across the street +as Pete turned and started toward him. Midway across the street Pete +felt a sharp pain shoot through his chest. It seemed as though the air +had been suddenly shut from his lungs and that he could neither speak +nor breathe. He heard an exclamation and saw Owen coming toward him. +Owen, who had seen him stop and sway, was asking a question. A dim +blur of faces--an endless journey along a street and up a narrow +stairway--and Pete lay staring at yellow wall-paper heavily sprinkled +with impossible blue roses. Owen was giving him whiskey--a sip at a +time. + +"How do you feel now?" queried the sheriff. + +"I'm all right. Somethin' caught me quick--out there." + +"Your lungs have been working overtime. Too much fresh air all at +once. You'll feel better tomorrow." + +"I reckon you won't have to set up and watch the front door," said +Pete, smiling faintly. + +"Or the back door. You're in the Sanborn House--room 11, second floor, +and there's only one other floor and that's downstairs. If you want +any thing--just pound on the floor. They'll understand." + +"About payin' for my board--" + +"That's all right. I got your money--and your other stuff that I might +need for evidence. Take it easy." + +"Reckon I'll git up," said Pete. "I'm all right now." + +"Better wait till I come back from the office. Be back about six. Got +to write some letters. Your case--called next Thursday." And Sheriff +Owen departed, leaving Pete staring at yellow wallpaper sprinkled with +blue roses. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +"OH, SAY TWO THOUSAND" + +Just one week from the day on which Pete arrived in Sanborn he was +sitting in the witness chair, telling an interested judge and jury, and +a more than interested attorney for the defense, the story of his +life--"every hour of which," the attorney for the defense shrewdly +observed in addressing the court, "has had a bearing upon the case." + +Pete spoke quietly and at times with considerable unconscious humor. +He held back nothing save the name of the man who had killed Brent, +positively refusing to divulge Brevoort's name. His attitude was +convincing--and his story straightforward and apparently without a +flaw, despite a spirited cross-examination by the State. The trial was +brief, brisk, and marked by no wrangling. Sheriff Owen's testimony, +while impartial, rather favored the prisoner than otherwise. + +In his address to the jury, Pete's attorney made no appeal in respect +to the defendant's youth, his struggle for existence, or the +defendant's willingness to stand trial, for Pete had unwittingly made +that appeal himself in telling his story. The attorney for the defense +summed up briefly, thanking the jury for listening to him--and then +suddenly whirled and pointed his finger at the sheriff. + +"I ask you as sheriff of Sanborn County why you allowed the defendant +his personal liberty, unguarded and unattended, pending this trial." + +"Because he gave his word that he would not attempt to escape," said +Sheriff Owen. + +"That's it!" cried the attorney. "The defendant _gave his word_. And +if Sheriff Owen, accustomed as he is to reading character in a man, was +willing to take this boy's word as a guarantee of his presence here, on +trial for his life, is there a man among us who (having heard the +defendant testify) is willing to stand up and say that he doubts the +defendant's word? If there is I should like to look at that man! No! + +"Gentlemen, I would ask you to recall the evidence contained in the +letter written by former employers of the defendant, substantiating my +assertion that this boy has been the victim of circumstances, and not +the victim of perverse or vicious tendencies. Does he look like a +criminal? Does he act like a criminal? I ask you to decide." + +The jury was out but a few minutes, when they filed into court and +returned a verdict of "Not guilty." + +The attorney for the defense shook hands with Pete, and gathered up his +papers. + +Outside the courtroom several of the jury expressed a desire to make +Pete's acquaintance, curiously anxious to meet the man who had known +the notorious Spider personally. Pete was asked many questions. One +juror, a big, bluff cattleman, even offered Pete a job--"in case he +thought of punchin' cattle again, instead of studyin' law"--averring +that Pete "was already a better lawyer than that shark from El Paso, at +any turn of the trial." + +Finally the crowd dwindled to Owen, the El Paso lawyer, two of Owen's +deputies, and Pete, who suggested that they go over to the hotel until +train-time. + +When Pete came to pay the attorney, whom Andover had secured following +a letter from Pete, the attorney asked Pete how much he could afford. +Pete, too proud to express ignorance, and feeling mightily impressed by +the other's ability, said he would leave that to him. + +"Well, including expenses, say two thousand dollars," said the attorney. + +Pete wrote the check and managed to conceal his surprise at the amount, +which the attorney had mentioned in such an offhand way. "I'm thankin' +you for what you done," said Pete. + +"Don't mention it. Now, I'm no longer your legal adviser, Annersley, +and I guess you're glad of it. But if I were I'd suggest that you go +to some school and get an education. No matter what you intend to do +later, you will find that an education will be extremely useful, to say +the least. I worked my way through college--tended furnaces in winter +and cut lawns in summer. And from what Andover tells me, you won't +have to do that. Well, I think I'll step over to the station; train's +due about now." + +"You'll tell Doc Andover how it come out?" + +"Of course. He'll want to know. Take care of yourself. Good-bye!" + +Owen and his deputies strolled over to the station with the El Paso +attorney. Pete, standing out in front of the hotel, saw the train pull +in and watched the attorney step aboard. + +"First, Doc Andover says to hire a good lawyer, which I done, and good +ones sure come high." Pete sighed heavily--then grinned. "Well, say +two thousand--jest like that! Then the lawyer says to git a education. +Wonder if I was to git a education what the professor would be tellin' +me to do next. Most like he'd be tellin' me to learn preachin' or +somethin'. Then if I was to git to be a preacher, I reckon all I could +do next would be to go to heaven. Shucks! Arizona's good enough for +me." + +But Pete was not thinking of Arizona alone--of the desert, the hills +and the mesas, the canons and arroyos, the illimitable vistas and the +color and vigor of that land. Persistently there rose before his +vision the trim, young figure of a nurse who had wonderful gray +eyes . . . "I'm sure goin' loco," he told himself. "But I ain't so +loco that she's goin' to know it." + +"I suppose you'll be hitting the trail over the hill right soon," said +Owen as he returned from the station and seated himself in one of the +ample chairs on the hotel veranda. "Have a cigar." + +Pete shook his head. + +"They're all right. That El Paso lawyer smokes 'em." + +"They ought to be all right," asserted Pete. + +"Did he touch you pretty hard?" + +"Oh, say two thousand, jest like that!" + +The sheriff whistled. "Shooting-scrapes come high." + +"Oh, I ain't sore at him. What makes me sore is this here law that +sticks a fella up and takes his money--makin' him pay for somethin' he +never done. A poor man would have a fine chance, fightin' a rich man +in court, now, wouldn't he?" + +"There's something in that. The _Law_, as it stands, is all right." + +"Mebby. But she don't stand any too steady when a poor man wants to +fork her and ride out of trouble. He's got to have a morral full of +grain to git her to stand--and even then she's like to pitch him if she +gits a chanct. I figure she's a bronco that never was broke right." + +"Well,"--and Owen smiled,--"we got pitched this time. We lost our +case." + +"You kind o' stepped up on the wrong side," laughed Pete. + +"I don't know about that. _Somebody_ killed Sam Brent." + +"I reckon they did. But supposin'--'speakin' kind o' offhand'--that +you had the fella--and say I was witness, and swore the fella killed +Brent in self-defense--where would he git off?" + +"That would depend entirely on his reputation--and yours." + +"How about the reputation of the fella that was killed?" + +"Well, it was Brent's reputation that got you off to-day, as much as +your own. Brent was foreman for The Spider, which put him in bad from +the start, and he was a much older man than you. He was the kind to do +just what you said he did--try to hold you up and get The Spider's +money. It was a mighty lucky thing for you that you managed to get +that money to the bank before they got you. You were riding straight +all right, only you were on the wrong side of the fence, and I guess +you knew it." + +"I sure did." + +"Well, it ain't for me to tell you which way to head in. You know what +you're doing. You've got what some folks call Character, and plenty of +it. But you're wearin' a reputation that don't fit." + +"Same as clothes, eh?"--and Pete grinned. + +"Yes. And you can change _them_--if you want to change 'em." + +"But that there character part stays jest the same, eh?" + +"Yes. You can't change that." + +"Don't know as I want to. But I'm sure goin' to git into my other +clothes, and take the trail over the hill that you was talkin' about." + +"There are six ways to travel from here,"--and the sheriff's eyes +twinkled. + +"Six? Now I figured about four." + +"Six. When it comes to direction, the old Hopis had us beat by a +couple of trails. They figured east, west, north, and south, straight +down and straight up." + +"I git you, Jim. Well, minin' never did interest me none--and as for +flyin', I sure been popped as high as I want to go. I reckon I'll jest +let my hoss have his head. I reckon him and me has got about the same +idee of what looks good." + +"That pony of yours has never been in El Paso, has he?" queried the +sheriff. + +"Nope. Reckon it would be mighty interestin' for him--and the folks +that always figured a sidewalk was jest for folks and not for +hosses--but I ain't lookin' for excitement, nohow." + +"Reckon that blue roan will give you all you want, any way you ride. +He hasn't been ridden since you left him here." + +"Yes--and it sure makes me sore. Doc Andover said I was to keep off a +hoss for a week yet. Sanborn is all right--but settin' on that hotel +porch lookin' at it ain't." + +"Well, I'd do what the Doc says, just the same. He ought to know." + +"I see--he ought to. He sure prospected round inside me enough to know +how things are." + +"You might come over to my office when you get tired of sitting around +here. There ain't anything much to do--but I've got a couple of old +law books that might interest you--and a few novels--and if you want +some real excitement I got an old dictionary--" + +"That El Paso lawyer was tellin' me I ought to git a education. Don't +know but what this is a good chanct. But I reckon I'll try one of them +novels first. Mebby when I git that broke to gentle I can kind o' ride +over and fork one of them law books without gittin' throwed afore I git +my spurs hooked in good. But I sure don't aim to take no quick +chances, even if you are ridin' herd for me." + +"That lawyer was right, Pete. And if I had had your chance, money, and +no responsibilities--at your age, I wouldn't have waited to pack my +war-bag to go to college." + +"Well, I figured _you_ was educated, all right. Why, that there lawyer +was sayin' right out in court about you bein' intelligent and +well-informed, and readin' character." + +"He was spreading it on thick, Pete. Regular stuff. What little I +know I got from observation--and a little reading." + +"Well, I aim to do some lookin' around myself. But when it comes to +readin' books--" + +"Reckon I'll let you take 'Robinson Crusoe'--it's a bed-rock story. +And if you finish that before you leave, I'll bet you a new Stetson +that you'll ask for another." + +"I could easy win that hat,"--and Pete grinned. + +"Not half as easy as you could afford to lose it." + +"Meanin' I could buy one 'most any time?" + +"No. I'll let you figure out what I meant." And the sturdy little +sheriff heaved himself out of a most comfortable chair and waddled up +the street, while Pete stared after him trying to reconcile bow-legs +and reading books, finally arriving at the conclusion that education, +which he had hitherto associated with high collars and helplessness, +might perhaps be acquired without loss of self-respect. "It sure +hadn't spoiled Jim Owen," who was "as much of a real man as any of +'em"--and could handle talk a whole lot better than most men who +boasted legs like his. Why, even that El Paso lawyer had complimented +Owen on his "concise and eloquent summary of his findings against the +defendant." And Pete reflected that his lawyer had not thrown any +bouquets at any one else in that courtroom. + +Just how much a little gray-eyed nurse in El Paso had to do with Pete's +determination to browse in those alien pastures is a matter for +speculation--but a matter which did not trouble Pete in the least, +because it never occurred to him; evident in his confession to Andy +White, months later: "I sure went to it with my head down and my ears +laid back, takin' the fences jest as they come, without stoppin' to +look for no gate. I sure jagged myself on the top-wire, frequent, but +I never let that there Robinson Crusoe cuss git out of sight till I run +him into his a home-corral along with that there man-eatin' nigger of +his'n." + +So it would seem that not even the rustle of skirts was heard in the +land as Pete made his first wild ride across the pleasant pastures of +Romance--for Doris had no share in this adventure, and, we are told, +the dusky ladies of that carnivorous isle did not wear them. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +A NEW HAT--A NEW TRAIL + +The day before Pete left Sanborn he strolled over to the sheriff's +office and returned the old and battered copy of "Robinson Crusoe," +which he had finished reading the night previous. "I read her, clean +through," asserted Pete, "but I'd never made the grade if you hadn't +put me wise to that there dictionary. Gosh! I never knowed there was +so many ornery words bedded down in that there book." + +"What do you think of the story?" queried the sheriff. + +"If that Robinson Crusoe guy had only had a hoss instead of a bunch of +goats, he sure could have made them natives ramble. And he sure took a +whole lot of time blamin' himself for his hard luck--always a-settin' +back, kind o' waitin' for somethin'--instead of layin' out in the brush +and poppin' at them niggers. He wa'n't any too handy at readin' a +trail, neither. But he made the grade--and that there Friday was sure +one white nigger." + +"Want to tackle another story?" queried Owen, as he put the book back +on the shelf. + +"If it's all the same to you, I'd jest as soon read this one over +ag'in. I was trailin' that old Crusoe hombre so clost I didn't git +time to set up and take in the scenery." + +In his eagerness to re-read the story Pete had forgotten about the +wager. Owen's eyes twinkled as he studied Pete's face. "We had a +bet--" said Owen. + +"That's right! I plumb forgot about that. You said you bet me a new +hat that I'd ask you for another book. Well--what you grinnin' at, +anyhow? 'Cause you done stuck me for a new lid? Oh, I git you! You +said _another_ book, and I'm wantin' to read the same one over again. +Shucks! I ain't goin' to fore-foot you jest because you rid into a +loop layin' in the tall grass where neither of us seen it." + +"I lose on a technicality. I ought to lose. Now if I had bet you a +new hat that you would want to keep on reading instead of that you'd +ask for _another_ book--" + +"But this ain't no law court, Jim. It was what you was meanin' that +counts." + +"Serves me right. I was preaching to you about education--and I'm game +to back up the idea--even if I did let my foot slip. Come on over to +Jennings's with me and I'll get that hat." + +"All right!" And Pete rolled a smoke as the sheriff picked up several +addressed letters and tucked them in his pocket. "I was goin' over to +the post-office, anyway." + +They crossed to the shady side of the street, the short, ruddy little +sheriff and the tall, dark cowboy, each more noticeable by contrast, +yet neither consciously aware of the curious glances cast at them by +occasional townsfolk, some of whom were small enough to suspect that +Pete and the sheriff had collaborated in presenting the evidence which +had made Pete a free man; and that they were still collaborating, as +they seemed very friendly toward each other. + +Pete tried on several hats and finally selected one. "Let's see how it +looks on you," he said, handing it to the sheriff. "I don't know how +she looks." + +Owen tried the hat on, turning to look into the mirror at the end of +the counter. Pete casually picked up the sheriff's old hat and glanced +at the size. + +"Reckon I'll take it," said Pete, as Owen returned it. "This here one +of mine never did fit too good. It was Andy's hat." + +Certain male gossips who infested the groceries, pool-halls, and +post-office of Sanborn, shook their heads and talked gravely about +bribery and corruption and politics and what not, when they learned +that the sheriff had actually bought a hat for that young outlaw that +he was so mighty thick with. "And it weren't no fairy-story neither. +Bill Jennings sold the hat hisself, and the sheriff paid for it, and +that young Annersley walked out of the store with said hat on his +_head_. Yes, sir! Things looked mighty queer." + +"Things would 'a' looked a mighty sight queerer if he'd 'a' walked out +with it on his foot," suggested a friend of Owen's who had been +buttonholed and told the alarming news. + +Meanwhile Pete attended to his own business, which was to get his few +things together, pay his hotel-bill, settle his account with the +sheriff--which included cab-hire in El Paso--and write a letter to +Doris Gray--the latter about the most difficult task he had ever faced. +He thought of making her some kind of present--but his innate good +sense cautioned him to forego that pleasure for a while, for in making +her a present he might also make a mistake--and Pete was becoming a bit +cautious about making mistakes, even though he did think that that +green velvet hat with a yellow feather, in the millinery store in +Sanborn, was about the most high-toned ladies' sky-piece that he had +ever beheld. Pete contented himself with buying a new Stetson for +Sheriff Owen--to be delivered after Pete had left town. + +Next morning, long before the inhabitants of Sanborn had thrown back +their blankets, Pete was saddling Blue Smoke, frankly amazed that the +pony had shown no evidence of his erstwhile early-morning activities. +He wondered if the horse were sick. Blue Smoke looked a bit fat, and +his eye was dull--but it was the dullness of resentment rather than of +poor physical condition. Well fed, and without exercise, Blue Smoke +had become more or less logy, and he looked decidedly disinterested in +life as Pete cautiously pulled up the front cinch. + +"He's too doggone quiet to suit me," Pete told the stable-man. + +"He's thinkin'," suggested that worthy facetiously. + +"So am I," asserted Pete, not at all facetiously. + +Out in the street Pete "cheeked" Blue Smoke, and swung up quickly, +expecting the pony to go to it, but Smoke merely turned his head and +gazed at the livery with a sullen eye. + +"He's sad to leave his boardin'-house,"--and Pete touched Smoke with +the spur. Smoke further surprised Pete by striking into a mild +cow-trot, as they turned the corner and headed down the long road at +the end of which glimmered the far brown spaces, slowly changing in +color as the morning light ran slanting toward the west. + +"Nothin' to do but go," reflected Pete, still a trifle suspicious of +Blue Smoke's gentlemanly behavior. The sun felt warm to Pete's back. +The rein-chains jingled softly. The saddle creaked a rhythmic +complaint of recent disuse. + +Pete, who had said good-bye to the sheriff the night before, turned his +face toward the open with a good, an almost too good, horse between his +knees and a new outlook upon the old familiar ranges and their devious +trails. + +Past a somber forest of cacti, shot with myriad angling shadows, +desolate and forbidding, despite the open sky and the morning sun, Pete +rode slowly, peering with eyes aslant at the dense growth close to the +road, struggling to ignore the spot. Despite his determination, he +could not pass without glancing fearsomely as though he half-expected +to see something there--something to identify the spot as that shadowy +place where Brent had stood that night . . . + +Blue Smoke, hitherto as amiably disposed to take his time as was Pete +himself, shied suddenly. Through habit, Pete jabbed him with the spur, +to straighten him back in the road again. Pete had barely time to +mutter an audible "I thought so!" when Blue Smoke humped himself. Pete +slackened to the first wild lunge, grabbed off his hat and swung it as +Blue Smoke struck at the air with his fore feet, as though trying to +climb an invisible ladder. Pete swayed back as the horse came down in +a mighty leap forward, and hooking his spurs in the cinch, rocked to +each leap and lunge like a leaf caught up in a desert whirlwind. When +Pete saw that Smoke's first fine frenzy had about evaporated, he urged +him to further endeavors with the spurs, but Blue Smoke only grunted +and dropped off into a most becoming and gentlemanly lope. And Pete +was not altogether displeased. His back felt as though it had been +seared with a branding-iron, and the range to the west was heaving most +indecorously, cavorting around the horizon as though strangely excited +by Blue Smoke's sudden and seemingly unaccountable behavior. + +"I reckon we're both feelin' better!" Pete told the pony. "I needed +jest that kind of a jolt to feel like I was livin' ag'in. But you +needn't be in such a doggone hurry to go and tell your friends how good +you're feelin'. Jest come down off that lope. We got all day to git +there." + +Blue Smoke shook his head as Pete pulled him to a trot. The cactus +forest was behind them. Ahead lay the open, warm brown in the sun, and +across it ran a dwindling grayish line, the road that ran east and west +across the desert,--a good enough road as desert roads go, but Pete, +despite his satisfaction in being out in the open again, grew somewhat +tired of its monotonously even wagon-rutted width, and longed for a +trail--a faint, meandering trail that would swing from the road, dip +into a sand arroyo, edge slanting up the farther bank, wriggle round a +cluster of small hills, shoot out across a mesa, and climb slowly +toward those hills to the west, finally to contort itself into +serpentine switchbacks as it sought the crest--and once on the crest +(which was in reality but the visible edge of another great mesa), +there would be grass for a horse and cedar-wood for a fire, and water +with which to make coffee. + +Pete had planned that his first night should be spent in the open, with +no other companions than the friendly stars. As for Blue Smoke, well, +a horse is the best kind of a pal for a man who wishes to be alone, a +pal who takes care of himself, never complains of weariness, and eats +what he finds to eat with soulful satisfaction. + +Pete made his first night's camp as he had planned, hobbled Blue Smoke, +and, having eaten, he lay resting, his head on his saddle and his gaze +fixed upon the far glory of the descending sun. The sweet, acrid +fragrance of cedar smoke, the feel of the wind upon his face, the +contented munching of his pony, the white radiance of the stars that +came quickly, and that indescribable sense of being at one with the +silences, awakened memories of many an outland camp-fire, when as a boy +he had journeyed with the horse-trader, or when Pop Annersley and he +had hunted deer in the Blue Range. And it seemed to Pete that that had +been but yesterday--"with a pretty onnery kind of a dream in between," +he told himself. + +As the last faint light faded from the west and the stars grew big, +Pete thanked those same friendly stars that there would be a +To-morrow--with sunlight, silence, and a lone trail to ride. Another +day and he would reach old Flores's place in the canon--but Boca would +not be there. Then he would ride to Showdown.--Some one would be at +The Spider's place . . . He could get feed for his horse . . . And +the next day he would ride to the Blue and camp at the old cabin. +Another day and he would be at the Concho . . . Andy, and Jim, and Ma +Bailey would be surprised . . . No, he hadn't come back to stay . . . +Just dropped in to say "Hello!" . . . + +Pete smiled faintly as a coyote shrilled his eternal plaint. This was +something like it. The trembling Pleiades grew blurred. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +THE OLD TRAIL + +The following afternoon Pete, stiff and weary from his two days' ride, +entered the southern end of Flores's canon and followed the trail along +the stream-bed--now dry and edged with crusted alkali--until he came +within sight of the adobe. In the half-light of the late afternoon he +could not distinguish objects clearly, but he thought he could discern +the posts of the pole corral and the roof of the meager stable. Nearer +he saw that there was no smoke coming from the mud chimney of the +adobe, and that the garden-patch was overgrown with weeds. + +No one answered his call as he rode up and dismounted. He found the +place deserted and he recalled the Mexican woman's prophecy. + +He pushed open the sagging door and entered. There was the +oilcloth-covered table and the chairs--a broken box in the middle of +the room, an old installment-house catalogue, from which the colored +prints had been torn, an empty bottle--and in the kitchen were the +rusted stove and a few battered and useless cooking-utensils. An odor +of stale grease pervaded the place. In the narrow bedroom--Boca's +room---was a colored fashion-plate pinned on the wall. + +Pete shrugged his shoulders and stepped out. Night was coming swiftly. +He unsaddled Blue Smoke and hobbled him. The pony strayed off up the +stream-bed. Pete made a fire by the corral, ate some beans which he +warmed in the can, drank a cup of coffee, and, raking together some +coarse dried grass, turned in and slept until the sound of his pony's +feet on the rocks of the stream-bed awakened him. He smelt dawn in the +air, although it was still dark in the canon, and having in mind the +arid stretch between the canon and Showdown, he made breakfast. He +caught up his horse and rode up the trail toward the desert. On the +mesa-edge he re-cinched his saddle and turned toward the north. + + +Flores, who with his wife was living at The Spider's place, recognized +him at once and invited him in. + +"What hit this here town, anyhow?" queried Pete. "I didn't see a soul +as I come through." + +Flores shrugged his shoulders. "The vaqueros from over there"--and he +pointed toward the north--"they came--and now there is but this +left"--and he indicated the saloon. "The others they have gone." + +"Cleaned out the town, eh? Reckon that was the T-Bar-T and the boys +from the Blue and the Concho. How'd they come to miss you?" + +"I am old--and my wife is old--and after they had drank the +wine--leaving but little for us--they laughed and said that we might +stay and be dam': that we were too old to steal cattle." + +"Uh-huh. Cleaned her out reg'lar! How's the senora?" + +Flores touched his forehead. "She is thinking of Boca--and no one else +does she know." + +"Gone loco, eh? Well, she ain't so bad off at that--seein' as _you're_ +livin' yet. No, I ain't comin' in. But you can sell me some +tortillas, if you got any." + +"It will be night soon. If the senor--" + +"Go ask the Senora if she has got any tortillas to sell. I wouldn't +bush in there on a bet. Don't you worry about my health." + +"We are poor, senor! We have this place, and the things--but of the +money I know nothing. My wife she has hidden it." + +"She ain't so crazy as you think, if that's so. Do you run this +place--or are you jest starvin' to death here?" + +"There is still a little wine--and we buy what we may need of +Mescalero. If you will come in--" + +"So they missed old Mescalero! Well, he's lucky. No, I don't come in. +I tried boardin' at your house onct." + +"Then I will get the tortillas." And Flores shuffled into the saloon. +Presently he returned with a half-dozen tortillas wrapped up in an old +newspaper. Pete tossed him a dollar, and packing the tortillas in his +saddle-pockets, gazed round at the town, the silent and deserted +houses, the empty street, and finally at The Spider's place. + +Old Flores stood in the doorway staring at Pete with drink-blurred +eyes. Pete hesitated. He thought of dismounting and going in and +speaking to Flores's wife. But no! It would do neither of them any +good. Flores had intimated that she had gone crazy. And Pete did not +want to talk of Boca--nor hear her name mentioned. "Boca's where she +ain't worryin' about anybody," he reflected as he swung round and rode +out of town. + +Once before he had camped in the same draw, a few miles west of +Showdown, and Blue Smoke seemed to know the place, for he had swung +from the trail of his own accord, striding straight to the water-hole. + +"And if you keep on actin' polite," Pete told the pony as he hobbled +him that evening, "you'll get a good reputation, like Jim Owen said; +which is plumb necessary, if you an' me's goin' to be pals. But if +gettin' a good reputation is goin' to spoil your wind or legs any--why, +jest keep on bein' onnery--which Jim was tellin' me is called +'Character.'" + +As Pete hardened to the saddle and Blue Smoke hardened to the trail, +they traveled faster and farther each day, until, on the Blue Mesa, +where the pony grazed and Pete squatted beside his night-fire in the +open, they were but a half-day's journey from the Concho. Pete almost +regretted that their journey must come to an end. But he could not go +on meandering about the country without a home and without an object in +life: _that_ was pure loafing. + +Pete might have excused himself on the ground that he needed just this +sort of thing after his serious operation; but he was honest with +himself, admitting that he felt fit to tackle almost any kind of hard +work, except perhaps writing letters--for he now thought well enough of +himself to believe that Doris Gray would answer his letter to her from +Sanborn. And of course he would answer her letter--and if he answered +that, she would naturally answer . . . Shucks! Why should she write +to him? All he had ever done for her was to make her a lot of bother +and hard work. And what good was his money to him? He couldn't just +walk into a store and buy an education and have it wrapped up in paper +and take it to her and say, "Here, Miss Gray. I got a education--the +best they had in the outfit. Now if you'll take it as a kind of +present--and me along with it . . ." + +Pete was camping within fifty yards of the spot where old Pop Annersley +had tried to teach him to read and write--it seemed a long time ago, +and Annersley himself seemed more vague in Pete's memory, as he tried +to recall the kindly features and the slow, deliberate movements of the +old man. It irritated Pete that he could not recall old man +Annersley's face distinctly. He could remember his voice, and one or +two characteristic gestures--but his face-- + +Pete stared into the camp-fire, dreaming back along that trail over +which he had struggled and fought and blundered; back to the time when +he was a waif in Enright, his only companion a lean yellow dog . . . +Pete nodded and his eyes closed. He turned lazily and leaned back +against his saddle. + +The mesa, carpeted with sod-grass, gave no warning of the approaching +horseman, who had seen the tiny fire and had ridden toward it. Just +within the circle of firelight he reined in and was about to call out +when that inexplicable sense inherent in animals, the Indian, and in +some cases the white man, brought Pete to his feet. In that same +lightning-swift, lithe movement he struck his gun from the holster and +stood tense as a buck that scents danger on the wind. + +Pete blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Keep your hands right where +they be and step down off that hoss--" + +The rider obeyed. Pete moved from the fire that his own shadow might +not fall upon the other. "Pete!" exclaimed the horseman in a sort of +choking whisper. + +The gun sagged in Peter's hand. "Andy! For God's sake!--I come clost +to killin' you!" And he leaped and caught Andy White's hand, shook it, +flung his arm about his shoulders, stepped back and struck him +playfully on the chest, grabbed him and shook him--and then suddenly he +turned and walked back to the fire and sat down, blinking into the +flames, and trying to swallow nothing, harder than he had ever tried to +swallow anything in his life. + +He heard Andy's step behind him, and heard his own name spoken again. +"It was my fault, Pete. I ought to 'a' hollered. I saw your fire and +rode over--" Andy's hand was on Pete's shoulder, and that shoulder was +shaking queerly. Andy drew back. "There goes that dam' cayuse," cried +Andy. "I'll go catch him up, and let him drag a rope." + +When Andy returned from putting an unnecessary rope on a decidedly +tired horse that was quite willing to stand right where he was, Pete +had pulled himself together and was rolling a cigarette. + +"Well, you ole sun-of-a-gun!" said Pete; "want to swap hats? Say, +how'll you swap?" + +Andy grinned, but his grin faded to a boyish seriousness as he took off +his own Stetson and handed it to Pete, who turned it round and +tentatively poked his fingers through the two holes in the crown. "You +got my ole hat yet, eh? Doggone if it ain't my ole hat. And she's +ventilated some, too. Well, I'm listenin'." + +"And you sure are lookin' fine, Pete. Say, is it you? Or did my hoss +pitch me--and I'm dreamin'--back there on the flat? No. I reckon it's +you all right. I ain't done shakin' yet from the way you come at me +when I rode in. Say, did you git Jim's letter? Why didn't you write +to a guy, and say you was comin'? Reg'lar ole Injun, same as ever. +Quicker 'n a singed bob-cat gittin' off a stove-lid. That Blue Smoke +'way over there? Thought I knowed him. When did they turn you loose +down to El Paso? Ma Bailey was worryin' that they wasn't feedin' you +good. When did you get here? Was you in the gun-fight when The Spider +got bumped off?" + +Pete was still gazing at the little round holes in Andy's hat. "Andy, +did you ever try to ride a hoss down the ole mesa trail backwards?" + +"Why, no, you sufferin' coyote! What you drivin' at?" + +"Here's your hat. Now if you got anything under it, go ahead and talk +up. Which way did you ride when we split, over by the timber there?" + +Andy reached over and put a stick of wood on the fire. "Well, seein' +it's your hat, I reckon you got a right to know how them holes come in +it." And he told Pete of his ride, and how he had misled the posse, +and he spoke jestingly, as though it had been a little thing to do; +hardly worth repeating. Then he told of a ride he had made to Showdown +to let Pete know that Gary would live, and how The Spider had said that +he knew nothing of Pete--had never seen him. And of how Ma Bailey +upheld Pete, despite all local gossip and the lurid newspaper screeds. +And that the boys would be mighty glad to see him again; concluding +with an explanation of his own presence there--that he had been over to +the T-Bar-T to see Houck about some of his stock that had strayed +through some "down-fence"--"She's all fenced now," he explained--and +had run into a bunch of wild turkeys, chased them to a rim-rock and had +managed to shoot one, but had had to climb down a canon to recover the +bird, which had set him back considerably on his home journey. "And +that there bird is hangin' right on my saddle now!" he concluded. "And +I ain't et since mornin'." + +"Then we eat," asserted Pete. "You go git that turkey, and I'll do the +rest." + +Wild turkey, spitted on a cedar limb and broiled over a wood fire, a +bannock or two with hot coffee in an empty bean-can (Pete insisted on +Andy using the one cup), tastes just a little better than anything else +in the world, especially if one has ridden far in the high country--and +most folk do, before they get the wild turkey. + +It was three o'clock when they turned in, to share Pete's one blanket, +and then Andy was too full of Pete's adventures to sleep, asking an +occasional question which Pete answered, until Andy, suddenly recalling +that Pete had told him The Spider had left him his money, asked Pete if +he had packed all that dough with him, or banked it in El Paso. To +which Pete had replied drowsily, "Sure thing, Miss Gray." Whereupon +Andy straightway decided that he would wait till morning before asking +any further questions of an intimate nature. + +Pete was strangely quiet the next morning, in fact almost taciturn, and +Andy noticed that he went into the saddle a bit stiffly. "That--where +you got hurt botherin' you, Pete?" he asked with real solicitude. + +"Some." And realizing that he had scarcely spoken to his old chum +since they awakened, he asked him many questions about the ranch, and +the boys, as they drifted across the mesa and down the trail that led +to the Concho. + +But it was not the twinge of his old wound that made Pete so silent. +He was suffering a disappointment. He had believed sincerely that what +he had been through, in the past six months especially, had changed +him--that he would have to have a mighty stern cause to pull a gun on a +man again; and at the first hint of danger he had been ready to kill. +He wondered if he would ever lose that hunted feeling that had brought +him to his feet and all but crooked his trigger-finger before he had +actually realized what had startled him. But one thing was +certain--Andy would never know just _how_ close he had come to being +killed; Andy, who had joked lightly about his own ride into the desert +with an angry posse trailing him, as he wore Pete's black Stetson, +"that he might give them a good run for their money," he had laughingly +said. + +"You're jest the same ornery, yella-headed, blue-eyed singin'-bird you +always was," declared Pete as they slithered along down the trail. + +Andy turned in the saddle and grinned at Pete. "Now that you've give +the blessing parson, will you please and go plumb to hell?" + +Pete felt a lot better. + +A loose rock slipped from the edge of the trail, and went bounding down +the steep hillside, crashing through a thicket of aspens and landing +with a dull clunk amid a pile of rock that slid a little, and grumbled +sullenly. Blue Smoke had also slipped as his footing gave way +unexpectedly. Pete felt still better. This was something like it! + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +HOME FOLKS + +Noon found them within sight of the ranch-house. In an hour they were +unsaddling at the corral, having ridden in the back way, at Andy's +suggestion, that they might surprise the folks. But it did not take them +long to discover that there were no folks to surprise. The bunk-house +was open, but the house across from it was locked, and Andy knew +immediately that the Baileys had driven to town, because the pup was +gone, and he always followed the buckboard. + +Pete was not displeased, for he wanted to shave and "slick up a bit" +after his long journey. "They'll see my hoss and know that I'm back," +said Andy, as he filled the kettle on the box-stove in the bunk-house. +"But we can put Blue Smoke in a stall and keep him out of sight till you +walk in right from nowhere. I can see Ma Bailey and Jim and the boys! +'Course Ma's like to be back in time to get supper, so mebby you'll have +to hide out in the barn till you hear the bell." + +"I ain't awful strong on that conquerin' hero stuff, Andy. I jest as +soon set right here--" + +"And spoil the whole darn show! Look here, Pete,--you leave it to me and +if we don't surprise Ma Bailey clean out of her--specs, why, I'll quit +and go to herdin' sheep." + +"A11 right. I'm willin'. Only you might see if you kin git in the back +way and lift a piece of pie, or somethin'." Which Andy managed to do +while Pete shaved himself and put on a clean shirt. + +They sat in the bunk-house doorway chatting about the various happenings +during Pete's absence until they saw the buckboard top the distant edge +of the mesa. Pete immediately secluded himself in the barn, while Andy +hazed Blue Smoke into a box stall and hid Pete's saddle. + +Ma Bailey, alighting from the buckboard, heard Andy's brief explanation +of his absence with indifference most unusual in her, and glanced sharply +at him when he mentioned having shot a wild turkey. + +"I suppose you picked it and cleaned it and got it all ready to roast," +she inquired. "Or have you just been loafing around waiting for me to do +it?" + +"I et it," asserted Andy. + +Ma Bailey glared at him, shook her head, and marched into the house while +Andy helped Bailey put up the horses. + +"Ma's upset about somethin'," explained Bailey. "Seems a letter came for +Pete--" + +"Letter from Pete! Why, he ain't comin' back, is he?" + +"A letter for Pete. Ma says it looks like a lady's writin' on the +envelope. She says she'd like to know what female is writin' to Pete, +and him goodness knows where, and not a word to say whether he's sick or +broke, or anything." + +"I sure would like to see him," said Andy fervently. + +"Well, if somebody's writin' to him here at the Concho, looks like he +might drift in one of these days. I'd sure like to know how the kid's +makin' it." + +And Bailey strode to the house, while Andy led the team to the corral. + +Later Andy appeared in the kitchen and asked Mrs. Bailey if he couldn't +help her set the table, or peel potatoes, or something. Ma Bailey gazed +at him suspiciously over her glasses. "I don't know what's ailin' you, +Andy, but you ain't actin' right. First you tell me that you had to camp +at the Blue last night account o' killin' a turkey. Then you tell me +that you et the whole of it. Was you scared you wouldn't get your share +if you fetched it home? Then you want to help me get supper. You been +up to something! You just keep me plumb wore out worrying about you. +You ought to be ashamed of yourself." + +"For why, Ma? What have I done?" + +"I don't know, but it'll come to the top. There's the boys now--and me +a-standing here-- Run along and set the table if you ain't so full of +whatever is got into you that you can't count straight. Bill won't be in +to-night. Leastwise, Jim don't expect him." And Ma Bailey flapped her +apron at him and shooed him out as though he were a chicken that had +dared to poke its inquisitive neck into the kitchen. + +"Count straight!" chuckled Andy. "Mebby I know more about how many's +here than Ma does." + +Meanwhile Ma Bailey busied herself preparing supper, and it was evident +to the boys in the bunkhouse that Ma had something on her mind from the +sounds which came from the kitchen. Ma scolded the potatoes as she fried +them, rebuked the biscuits because they had browned a little too soon, +censured the stove for its misbehavior in having scorched the biscuits, +accused the wood of being a factor in the conspiracy, reprimanded the +mammoth coffee-pot that threatened to deluge the steak, and finally +chased Andy from the premises when she discovered that he had laid the +table with her best set of dishes. + +"Ma's steamin' about somethin'," remarked Andy as he entered the +bunk-house. + +This information was received with characteristic silence as each and +every cowboy mentally straightened up, vowing silently that he wasn't +goin' to take any chances of Ma b'ilin' over on him. + +The clatter of the pack-horse bell brought the men to their feet and they +filed across to the house, a preternaturally silent aggregation that +confirmed Ma Bailey's suspicion that there was something afoot. + +Andy, loitering behind them, saw Pete coming from the stables, tried to +compose himself, but could not get rid of the boyish grin, which provoked +Ma Bailey to mutter something which sounded like "idiot," to which the +cowboys nodded in cheerful concurrence, without other comment. + +Hank Barley, the silent, was gazing surreptitiously at Ma's face when he +saw her eyes widen, saw her rise, and stand staring at the doorway as +Andy clumped in, followed by Pete. + +Ma Bailey sat down suddenly. + +"It's all right, Ma," laughed Andy, alarmed at the expression on her +face. "It's just Pete." + +"Just Pete!" echoed Ma Bailey faintly. And then, "Goodness alive, child, +where you been?" + +Pete's reply was lost in the shuffle of feet as the men rose and shook +hands with him, asking him a dozen questions in as many seconds, +asserting that he was looking fine, and generally behaving like a crowd +of schoolboys, as they welcomed him to their midst again. + +Pete sat in the absent Bill Haskins's place. And "You must 'a' knowed he +was coming" asserted Avery. "Bill is over to the line shack." + +"I got a _letter_," asserted Ma Bailey mysteriously. + +"And you jest said nothin' and sprung him on us! Well, Ma, you sure +fooled me," said Andy, grinning. + +"You go 'long." Mrs. Bailey smiled at Andy, who had earned her +forgiveness by crediting her--rather wisely--with having originated the +surprise. + +They were chatting and joking when Bill Haskins appeared in the door-way, +his hand wrapped in a handkerchief. + +Ma Bailey glared at him over her spectacles. "Got any stickin'-plaster?" +he asked plaintively, as though he had committed some misdemeanor. She +rose and placed a plate and chair for him as he shook hands with Pete, +led him to the kitchen and inspected and bandaged his hand, which he had +jagged on a wire gate, and finally reinstated him at the table, where he +proved himself quite as efficient as most men are with two hands. "Give +Bill all the coffee he wants and plenty stickin'-plaster, and I reckon he +never would do no work," suggested Hank Barley. + +Bill Haskins grinned good-naturedly. "I see Pete's got back," he +ventured, as a sort of mild intimation that there were other subjects +worth discussing. He accompanied this brilliant observation by a modest +request for another cup of coffee, his fourth. The men rose, leaving +Bill engaged in his favorite indoor pastime, and intimated that Pete +should go with them. But Ma Bailey would not bear of it. Pete was going +to help her with the dishes. Andy could go, however, and Bill Haskins, +as soon as he was convinced that the coffee-pot was empty. Ma Bailey's +chief interest in life at the moment was to get the dishes put away, the +men out of the way, and Pete in the most comfortable rocking-chair in the +room, that she might hear his account of how it all happened. + +And Pete told her--omitting no circumstance, albeit he did not accentuate +that part of his recital having to do with Doris Gray, merely mentioning +her as "that little gray-eyed nurse in El Paso"--and in such an offhand +manner that Ma Bailey began to suspect that Pete was keeping something to +himself. Finally, by a series of cross-questioning, comment, and +sympathetic concurrence, she arrived at the feminine conclusion that the +gray-eyed nurse in El Paso had set her cap for Pete--of course Pete was +innocent of any such adjustment of headgear--to substantiate which she +rose, and, stepping to the bedroom, returned with the letter which had +caused her so much speculation as to who was writing to Pete, and why the +letter had been directed to the Concho. + +Pete glanced at the letter, and thanked Ma Bailey as he tucked it in his +pocket. + +"I don't mind if you open it, Pete," she told him. "Goodness knows how +long it's been laying in the post-office! And it, mebby, is +important--from that doctor, or that lawyer, mebby. Oh, mebby it's from +the bank. Sakes alive! To think of that man leaving you all that money! +Mebby that bank has failed!" + +"Well, I'd be right where I started when I first come +here--broke--lookin' for a job." + +"And the boys'll worry you most to death if you try to read any letters +in the bunk-house to-night. They're waitin' to hear you talk." + +"Guess the letter can wait. I ain't such a fast reader, anyhow." + +"And you're like to lose it, carryin' it round." + +"I--I--reckon I better read it," stammered Pete helplessly. + +He felt somehow that Ma would feel slighted if he didn't. Ma Bailey +watched his face as he read the rather brief note from Doris, thanking +him for his letter to her and congratulating him on the outcome of his +trial, and assuring him of her confidence in his ultimate success in +life. "Little Ruth," wrote Doris, "cried bitterly when I told her that +you had gone and would not come back. She said that when you said +'good-bye' to her you promised to come back--and of course I had to tell +her that you would, just to make her happy. She has lost all interest in +the puzzle game since you left, but that queer watch that you gave her, +that has to be shaken before taken--and then not taken seriously--amuses +her quite a bit. She gets me to wind it up--her fingers are not strong +enough--and then she laughs as the hands race around. When they stop she +puts her finger on the hour and says, 'Pitty soon Pete come back.' +Little Ruth misses you very much." + +Pete folded the letter and put it in his pocket. "From a friend of +mine," he said, flushing slightly. + +Ma Bailey sighed, smiled, and sighed again. "You're just itching to go +see the boys. Well, run along, and tell Jim not to set up all night." Ma +Bailey rose, and stepping to the bedroom returned with some blankets. +"You'll have your old bunk. It's yours just as long as you want to stay, +Pete. And--and I hope that girl in El Paso--is a--a nice--sensible--" + +"Why, Ma! What's the matter?--" as Mrs. Bailey blinked and showed +unmistakable signs of emotion. + +"Nothing, Pete. I reckon your coming back so sudden and all you been +through, and that letter, kind of upset me. D-does she powder her face, +Pete?" + +"Who? You mean Miss Gray? Why, what would she do that for?" + +"Does she wear clothes that--that cost lots of money?" + +"Great snakes, Ma! I dunno. I never seen her except in the hospital, +dressed jest like all the nurses." + +"Is--is she handsome?" + +"Say, Ma, you let me hold them blankets. They're gittin' you all sagged +down. Why, she ain't what I'd say was _handsome_, but she sure got +pretty eyes and hair--and complexion--and the smoothest little hands--and +she's built right neat. She steps easy--like a thoroughbred filly--and +she's plumb sensible, jest like you folks." + +This latter assurance did not seem to comfort Ma Bailey as much as the +implied compliment might intimate. + +"And there's only one other woman I ever saw that made me feel right to +home and kind o' glad to have her round, like her. And she's got gray +eyes and the same kind of hair, and--" + +"Sakes alive, Pete Annersley! Another?" + +"Uh-huh. And I'm kissin' her good-night--right now." And Pete grabbed +the blankets and as much of Ma Bailey as could be included in that large +armful, and kissed her heartily. + +"He's changed," Ma Bailey confided to herself, after Pete had +disappeared. "Actin' like a boy--to cheer me up. But it weren't no boy +that set there readin' that letter. It was a growed man, and no wonder. +Yes, Pete's changed, bless his heart!" + +Ma Bailey did not bless Pete's heart because he had changed, however, nor +because he had suffered, nor yet because he was unconsciously in love +with a little nurse in El Paso, nor yet because he kissed her, but +because she liked him: and because no amount of money or misfortune, +blame or praise, could really change him toward his friends. What Ma +Bailey meant was that he had grown a little more serious, a little more +gentle in his manner of addressing her--aside from saying good-night--and +a little more intense in a quiet way. To sum it all up, Pete had just +begun to think--something that few people do on the verdant side of +forty, and rather dread having to do on the other side of that mile-post. + +A week later, as they sat at table asking one another whether Ma Bailey +had took to makin' pies ag'in jest for practice or for Pete, and plaguing +that good woman considerably with their good-natured banter, it occurred +to Bill Haskins to ask Pete if he were going to become a permanent member +of the family or if he were simply visiting; only Bill said, "Are you +aimin' to throw in with us--or are you goin' to curl your tail and drift, +when the snow flies?" + +"I reckon I'll drift," said Pete. + +This was news. Andy White demurred forcibly. Bailey himself seemed +surprised, and even old Hank Barley, the silent, expressed himself as +mildly astonished. + +"We figured you'd stay till after the round-up, anyhow," said Bailey. + +"Reckon it's too tame for Pete here," growled Andy. + +"That's no fault of yours, Andrew," observed Ma Bailey. + +"You're always peckin' at me," grumbled Andy, who detested being called +"Andrew" quite as much as that robust individual known to his friends as +Bill detests being called "Willie"--and Ma Bailey knew it. + +"So you aim to leave us," said Haskins, quite unaware of Ma Bailey's eye +which glared disapproval of the subject. + +"Pete's going--next Tuesday--and just to set your mind at rest and give +you a chance to eat your supper"--Bill had been doing scarcely anything +else since he sat down--"Pete has a right good reason to go." + +"Kin I have another cup of coffee?" queried Bill. + +"Sakes alive, yes! I reckon that's what's ailing you." + +"I only had three, Ma." + +"Pete is going away _on business_," asserted Ma Bailey. + +"Huh," snorted Andy. + +Bailey glanced at his wife, who telegraphed to him to change the subject. +And that good man, who had been married twenty-five years, changed the +subject immediately. + +But Andy did not let it drop. After supper he cornered Pete in the +bunk-house, and following some wordy fencing, ascertained that Pete was +going to Tucson for the winter to get an education. Pete blushingly +admitted that that was his sole intent, swore Andy to secrecy, and told +him that he had discussed the subject with Ma Bailey, who had advised him +to go. + +"So you're quittin' the game," mourned Andy. + +"Nope, jest beginnin'." + +"Well, you might 'a' said somethin', anyhow." + +Pete put his hand on Andy's shoulder. "I wa'n't sure--till yesterday. I +_was_ goin' to tell _you_, Andy. Shucks! Didn't I tell you about the +money and everything--and you didn't say a word to the boys. I ain't +forgittin'." + +"Oh, I knowed havin' money wouldn't swell you up. It ain't that. Only, +I was wonderin'--" + +"So was I, Andy. And I been wonderin' for quite a spell. Come on out +and let's go set on the corral bars and smoke and--jest smoke." + +But they did more than just smoke. The Arizona stars shot wondrous +shafts of white fire through the nipping air as the chums sensed the +comfortable companionship of horses moving slowly about the corral; and +they heard the far, faint call of the coyote as a drift of wind brought +the keen tang of the distant timberlands. They talked together as only +youth may talk with youth, when Romance lights the trail, when the heart +speaks from itself to heart in sympathy. Yet their chat was not without +humor or they would not have been Pete and Andy. + +"You always was a wise one," asserted Andy; "pickin' out a professional +nurse for _your_ girl ain't a bad idee." + +"I had a whole lot to do with pickin' her out, didn't I?" + +"Well, you can't make me believe that she did the pickin', for you was +tellin' me she had good eyes." + +"I reckon it was the Doc that did the pickin',"' suggested Pete. + +"Well, I suppose the next thing you'll be givin' the preacher a chanct." + +"Nope. Next thing I'll be givin' Miss Gray a chanct to tell me I'm a +doggone idiot--only she don't talk like that." + +"Then it'll be because she don't know you like I do. But you're lucky-- +No tellin'--" Andy climbed down from the bars. + +"No tellin' what?" queried Pete. + +"No tellin' you how much I sure want you to win, pardner--because you +know it." + +Pete leapt from the top rail square on to Andy, who, taken off his guard, +toppled and fell. They rolled over and over, not even trying to miss the +puddle of water beside the drinking-trough. Andy managed to get his free +hand in the mud and thought of feeding some of it to Pete, but Pete was +too quick for him, squirming loose and making for the bunkhouse at top +speed. + +Pete entrenched himself in the far corner of the room where Bill Haskins +was reading a novel,--exceedingly popular, if the debilitated condition +of the pages and covers were any criterion,--when Andy entered, holding +one hand behind him in a suspicious manner. Pete wondered what was +coming when it came. Andy swung his arm and plugged a fair-sized +mud-ball at Pete, which missed him and hit the innocent and unsuspecting +Bill on the ear, and stayed there. Bill Haskins, who was at the moment +helping the hero hold a spirited pair of horses while the heroine climbed +to a seat in the romantic buckboard, promptly pulled on the reins and +shouted "Whoa!" and the debilitated novel came apart in his hands with a +soft, ripping sound. It took Bill several seconds to think of something +to say, and several more to realize just what had happened. He opened +his mouth--but Andy interrupted with "Honest, Bill, I wasn't meanin' to +hit you. I was pluggin' at Pete, there. It was his fault; he went and +hid out behind you. Honest, Bill--wait and I'll help you dig that there +mud out of your ear." + +Bill shook his head and growled as he scraped the mud from his face and +neck. Andy, gravely solicitous, helped to remove the mud and +affectionately wiped his fingers in Bill's hair. + +"Here--what in hell you doin'!" snorted Bill. + +"That's right! I was forgittin'! Honest, Bill!" + +"I'll honest you! I'll give you somethin' to forgit." But Andy did not +wait. + +A little later Bill appeared at the kitchen door and plaintively asked Ma +Bailey if she had any sticking-plaster. + +"Sakes alive! Now what you done to yourself, William?" + +"Nothin' this time, Miss Bailey. I--I done tore a book--and jest want to +fix it." + +When Bill returned to the bunk-house with the "sticking-plaster," Pete +and Andy both said they were sorry for the occurrence, but Bill was +mighty suspicious of their sincerity. They were silent while Bill +laboriously patched up the book and settled himself to take up the reins +where he had dropped them. The heroine had just taken her seat beside +the driver--when-- "It's a darned shame!" said a voice, Pete's voice. + +"It sure is--and Bill jest learnin' to read. He might 'a' spelled out a +whole page afore mornin'." + +"I wa'n't meanin' Bill," asserted Pete. + +"Oh, you won't bother Bill none. He can't hear you. His off ear is full +of mud. Go on and say anything you like about him." + +Bill slowly laid down his book, stepped to his bunk, and drew his +six-shooter from its holster. He marched back to the table and laid the +gun quite handy to him, and resumed his chair. + +Bill Haskins was long-suffering--but both Andy and Pete realized that it +was high time to turn their bright particular talents in some other +direction. So they undressed and turned in. They had been asleep an +hour or two before Bill closed his book regretfully, picked up his gun, +and walked to his bunk. He stood for a moment gazing at Andy, and then +turned to gaze at Pete. Then he shook his head--and a slow smile lighted +his weathered face. For despite defunct mountain lions, bent nails, and +other sundries, Bill Haskins liked Andy and Pete--and he knew if it came +to a test of friendship that either of them would stand by him to the +last dollar, or the last shot even, as he would have gladly done to help +them. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + +THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER + +The first thing Pete did when he arrived in Tucson was to purchase a +suit as near like that which he had seen Andover wear as possible. +Pete's Stetson was discarded for a soft felt of ordinary dimensions. +He bought shoes, socks, and some underwear, which the storekeeper +assured him was the latest thing, but which Pete said "looked more like +chicken-wire than honest-to-Gosh cloth," and fortified by his new and +inconspicuous apparel, he called on the principal of the high school +and told him just why he had come to Tucson. "And I'd sure look queer +settin' in with all the kids," Pete concluded. "If there's any way of +my ketchin' up to my size, why, I reckon I kin pay." + +The principal thought it might be arranged. For instance, he would be +glad to give Pete--he said Mr. Annersley--an introduction to an +instructor, a young Eastern scholar, who could possibly spare three or +four evenings a week for private lessons. Progress would depend +entirely upon Pete's efforts. Many young men had studied that +way--some of them even without instruction. Henry Clay, for instance, +and Lincoln. And was Mr. Annersley thinking of continuing with his +studies and entering college, or did he merely wish to become +conversant with the fundamentals? + +"If I kin git so I can throw and hog-tie some of them fundamentals +without losin' my rope, I reckon I'll be doin' all I set out to do. +No--I guess I'd never make a top-hand, ridin' for you. But my rope is +tied to the horn--and I sure aim to stay with whatever I git my loop +on." + +"I get your drift--and I admire your purpose. Incidentally and +speaking from a distinctly impersonal--er--viewpoint" (no doubt a +high-school principal may speak from a viewpoint, or even sit on one if +he cares to), "your colloquialisms are delightful--and sufficiently +forceful to leave no doubt as to your sincerity of purpose." + +"Meanin' you sabe what I'm gittin' at, eh?" + +The principal nodded and smiled. + +"I thought that was what you was tryin' to say. Well, professor--" + +"Dr. Wheeler, if you please." + +"All right, Doc. But I didn't know you was a doc too." + +"Doctor of letters, merely." + +Pete suspected that he was being joked with, but the principal's manner +was quite serious. "If you will give me your address, I will drop a +line to Mr. Forbes," said the principal. + +Pete gave his name and address. As Principal Wheeler wrote them down +in his notebook he glanced up at Pete curiously. "You don't happen to +be the young man--er--similarity of names--who was mixed up in that +shooting affair in El Paso? Name seemed familiar. No doubt a +coincidence." + +"It wa'n't no coincidence--it was a forty-five," stated Pete. + +The principal stared at Pete as though he half-expected to see him pull +a gun and demand an education instanter. But Pete's smile helped the +principal to pull himself together. "Most extraordinary!" he +exclaimed. "I believe the courts exonerated you?" + +"That ain't all they did to me," Pete assured him. "Nope. You got +that wrong. But I reckon they would 'a' done it--if I hadn't 'a' hired +that there lawyer from El Paso. He sure exonerated a couple o' +thousand out o' me. And the judge turned me loose." + +"Most extraordinary!" + +"It was that lawyer that told me I ought to git a education," exclaimed +Pete. + +"Of course! Of course! I had forgotten it for the moment. Well, here +is Mr. Forbes's address. I think you will find him at his room almost +any evening." + +"I'll be there!" + +"Very good! I suppose you are aware that it is illegal to carry +concealed weapons inside the city limits?" + +"I get you, Doc, but I ain't packin' a gun, nohow." + +As the weeks went by and the winter sun swung farther south, Mr. +Forbes, the young Eastern scholar, and Pete began to understand each +other. Pete, who had at first considered the young Easterner affected, +and rather effeminate, slowly realized that he was mistaken. Forbes +was a sincere and manly fellow, who had taken his share of hard knocks +and who suffered ill health uncomplainingly--an exile of his chosen +environment, with little money and scarce a companion to share his +loneliness. + +As for Forbes, he envied Pete his abundant health and vigor and admired +his unspoiled enthusiasm. Pete's humor, which somehow suggested to +Forbes the startling and inexplicable antics of a healthy colt, melted +Forbes's diffidence, and they became friends and finally chums. Pete +really learned as much through this intimacy as he did from his books: +perhaps more. It was at Pete's suggestion that Forbes took to riding a +horse, and they spent many afternoons on the desert, drifting slowly +along while they discussed different phases of life. + +These discussions frequently led to argument, sincere on Pete's part, +who never realized that Forbes's chief delight in life was to get Pete +started, that he might enjoy Pete's picturesque illustration of the +point, which, more often than not, was shrewdly sharp and convincing. +No amount of argument, no matter how fortified by theory and example, +could make Pete change his attitude toward life; but he eventually came +to see life from a different angle, his vision broadening to a wider +perspective as they climbed together, Forbes loitering on familiar +ground that Pete might not lose the trail and find himself entangled in +some unessential thicket by the way. + + +Forbes was not looking well. His thin face was pinched; his eyes were +listless. Pete thought that Forbes stayed indoors too much. "Why +don't you go get a cayuse and ride?" he suggested. + +"Never was on a horse in my life." + +"Uh-huh. Well, you been off one too long." + +"I'd like to. But I can't afford it." + +"I don't mean to buy a horse--jest hire one, from the livery. I was +thinkin' of gettin' out on the dry-spot myself. I'm plumb sick of +town." + +"You would have to teach me." + +"Shucks! There's nothin' to learn. All you got to do is to fork your +cayuse and ride. I'd sure be glad to go with you." + +"That's nice of you. Well, say to-morrow afternoon, then. But what +about horses?" + +"We got a session to-morrow. What's the matter with this afternoon? +The sun's shinin', and there ain't much wind, and I can smell the ole +desert, a-sizzlin'. Come on!" + +They were in Forbes's room. The Easterner laid his book aside and +glanced down at his shoes. "I haven't a riding-costume." + +"Well, you can get one for a dollar and four-bits--copper-riveted, and +sure easy and comfortable. I'll lend you a pair of boots." + +"All right. I'll try it once, at least." + +Forbes felt rather conspicuous in the stiff new overalls, rolled up at +the bottom, over Pete's tight high-heeled boots, but nobody paid any +attention to him as he stumped along beside Pete, on the way to the +livery. + +Pete chose the horses, and a saddle for Forbes, to whom he gave a few +brief pointers anent the art of swinging up and dismounting. They set +out and headed for the open. Forbes was at first nervous; but as +nothing happened, he forgot his nervousness and gave himself to gazing +at the great sun-swept spaces until the horses broke into a trot, when +he turned his entire attention to the saddle-horn, clinging to it +affectionately with his free hand. + +Pete pulled up. "Say, amigo, it's ag'inst the rules to choke that +there horn to death. Jest let go and clamp your knees. We'll lope 'em +a spell." + +Forbes was about to protest when Pete's horse, to which he had +apparently done nothing, broke into a lope. Forbes's horse followed. +It was a rough experience for the Easterner, but he enjoyed it until +Pete pulled up suddenly. Forbes's own animal stopped abruptly, but +Forbes, grabbing wildly at the horn, continued, and descended in a +graceful curve which left him sitting on the sand and blinking up at +the astonished animal. + +"Hurt you?" queried Pete. + +"I think not-- But it was rather sudden. Now what do I do?" + +"Well, when you git rested up, I'd say to fork him ag'in. He's sure +tame." + +"I--I thought he was rather wild," stammered Forbes, getting to his +feet. + +"Nope. It was you was wild. I reckon you like to scared him to death. +Nope! Git on him from this side." + +"He seems a rather intelligent animal," commented Forbes as he prepared +for the worst. + +"Well, we kin call him that, seein' there's nobody round to hear us. +We'll walk 'em a spell." + +Forbes felt relieved. And realizing that he was still alive and +uninjured, he relaxed a bit. After they had turned and headed for +town, he actually enjoyed himself. + +Next day he was so stiff and sore that he could scarcely walk, but his +eye was brighter. However, he begged off from their proposed ride the +following afternoon. Pete said nothing; but when the next riding +afternoon arrived, a week later, Forbes was surprised to see Pete, +dressed in his range clothes. Standing near the curb were two horses, +saddled and bridled. "Git on your jeans and those ole boots of mine. +I fetched along a extra pair of spurs." + +"But, Annersley--" + +"I can't ride 'em both." + +"It's nice of you--but really, I can't afford it." + +"Look here, Doc, what you can't afford is to set in that room a-readin' +all day. And the horse don't cost you a cent. I had a talk with the +old-timer that runs the livery, and when he seen I was onto my job, he +was plumb tickled to death for me to exercise the horses. One of 'em +needs a little educatin'." + +"That's all right. But how about my horse?" + +"Why, I brought him along to keep the other horse company. I can't +handle 'em both. Ain't you goin' to help me out?" + +"Well, if you put it that way, I will this time." + +"Now you're talkin' sense." + +Several weeks later they were again riding out on the desert and +enjoying that refreshing and restful companionship which is best +expressed in silence, when Pete, who had been gazing into the distance, +pulled up his restive horse and sat watching a moving something that +suddenly disappeared. Forbes glanced at Pete, who turned and nodded as +if acknowledging the other's unspoken question. They rode on. + +A half-hour later, as they pulled up at the edge of the arroyo, Forbes +was startled by Pete's "Hello, neighbor!" to an apparently empty world. + +"What's the joke?" queried Forbes. + +The joke appeared suddenly around the bend in the arroyo--a big, +weather-bitten joke astride of a powerful horse. Forbes uttered an +exclamation as the joke whipped out a gun and told them to "Put 'em +up!" in a tone which caused Forbes's hands to let go the reins and rise +head-high without his having realized that he had made a movement. +Pete was also picking invisible peaches from the air, which further +confirmed Forbes's hasty conclusion that they were both doing the right +thing. + +"_I ain't got a gun on me, Ed._" Pete had spoken slowly and +distinctly, and apparently without the least shadow of trepidation. +Forbes, gazing at the grim, bronzed face of the strange horseman, +nervously echoed Pete's statement. Before the Easterner could realize +what had actually happened, Pete and the strange rider had dismounted +and were shaking hands: a transition so astonishing that Forbes forgot +to lower his hands and sat with them nervously aloft as though +imploring the Rain-God not to forget his duty to mankind. + +Pete and the stranger were talking. Forbes could catch an occasional +word, such as "The Spider--El +Paso--White-Eye--Hospital--Sonora--Sanborn--Sam Brent--" + +Pete turned and grinned. "I reckon you can let go the--your holt, Doc. +This here is a friend of mine." + +Forbes sighed thankfully. He was introduced to the friend, whom Pete +called Ed, but whose name had been suddenly changed to Bill. "We used +to ride together," explained Pete. + +Forbes tactfully withdrew, realizing that whatever they had to talk +about was more or less confidential. + +Presently Pete approached Forbes and asked him if he had any money with +him. Forbes had five dollars and some small change. "I'm borrowin' +this till to-morrow," said Pete, as he dug into his own pocket, and +without counting the sum total, gave it to the stranger. + +Brevoort stuffed the money in his pocket and swung to his horse. "You +better ride in with us a ways," suggested Pete. "The young fella don't +know anything about you--and he won't talk if I pass the word to him. +Then I kin go on ahead and fetch back some grub and some more dineros." + +Forbes found the stranger rather interesting as they rode back toward +Tucson; for he spoke of Mexico and affairs below the line--amazing +things to speak of in such an offhand manner--in an impersonal and +interesting way. + +Within two miles of the town they drew up. "Bill, here," explained +Pete, "is short of grub. Now, if you don't mind keepin' him company, +why, I'll fan it in and git some. I'll be back right soon." + +"Not at all! Go ahead!" Forbes wanted to hear more of first-hand +experiences south of the line. Forbes, who knew something of Pete's +history, shrewdly suspected that the stranger called "Bill" had a good +reason to ride wide of Tucson--although the Easterner did not quite +understand why Pete should ride into town alone. But that was merely +incidental. + +It was not until Pete had returned and the stranger had departed, +taking his way east across the desert, that Pete offered an +explanation--a rather guarded explanation, Forbes realized--of the +recent happenings. "Bill's keepin' out on the desert for his health," +said Pete. "And, if anybody should ask us, I reckon we ain't seen him." + +"I think I understand," said Forbes. + +And Forbes, recalling the event many months later, after Pete had left +Tucson, thought none the less of Pete for having helped an old friend +out of difficulties. Forbes was himself more than grateful to +Pete--for with the riding three times a week and Pete's robust +companionship, he had regained his health to an extent far beyond his +hopes. + +Pete rejected sixteen of the seventeen plans he had made that winter +for his future, often guided by what he read in the occasional letters +from Doris, wherein he found some rather practical suggestions--for he +wrote frankly of his intent to better himself, but wisely refrained +from saying anything that might be interpreted as more than friendship. + + +Pete had not planned to go to El Paso quite as soon as he did; and it +was because of an unanswered letter that he went. He had written early +in March and it was now May--and no reply. + +If he had waited a few days longer, it is possible that he would not +have gone at all, for passing him as he journeyed toward Texas was a +letter from Doris Gray in which she intimated that she thought their +correspondence had better cease, and for the reason--which she did not +intimate--that she was a bit afraid that Pete would come to El Paso, +and stay in El Paso until she had either refused to see him--it was +significant that she thought of refusing to see him, for he was +actually worth looking at--or until he had asked her a question to +which there was but one answer, and that was "no." Just why Doris +should have taken it for granted that he would ask her that question is +a matter which she never explained, even to herself. Pete had never +made love to her in the accepted sense of the term. He had done much +better than that, although he was entirely unconscious of it. But that +psychological moment--whatever that may mean--in the affairs of Doris +and Pete was rapidly approaching,--a moment more often anticipated by +the female of the species than by the male. + +Just what kept Pete from immediately rushing to the hospital and +proclaiming his presence is another question that never can be +answered. Pete wanted to do just that thing--but he did not. Instead, +he took a modest room at a modest hotel, bought himself some +presentable clothing, dropped in to see Hodges of the Stockmen's +Security, and spent several days walking about the streets mentally +preparing himself to explain just why he _had_ come to El Paso, finally +arriving at the conclusion that he had come to see little Ruth. Doris +had said that Ruth had missed him. Well, he had a right to drop in and +see the kid. And he reckoned it was nobody's business if he did. + +He had avoided going near the General Hospital in his strolls about +town, viewing that building from a safe distance and imagining all +sorts of things. Perhaps Miss Gray had left. Perhaps she was ill. Or +she might have married! Still, she would have told him, he thought. + +Doris never knew what a struggle it cost Pete--to say nothing of hard +cash--to purchase that bottle of perfume. But he did it, marching into +a drug-store and asking for a bottle of "the best they had," and paying +for it without a quiver. Back in his room he emptied about half of the +bottle on his handkerchief, wedged the handkerchief into his pocket, +and marched to the street, determination in his eye, and the fumes of +half a vial of Frangipanni floating in his wake. + +Perhaps the Frangipanni stimulated him. Perhaps the overdose deadened +his decision to stay away from the hospital. In any event, that +afternoon he betook himself to the hospital, and was fortunate in +finding Andover there, to whom he confided the obvious news that he was +in town--and that he would like to see little Ruth for a minute, if it +was all right. + +Andover told him that little Ruth had been taken to her home a month +ago--and Pete wondered how she could still miss him, as Miss Gray had +intimated in her last letter. And as he wondered he saw light--not a +great light, but a faint ray which was reflected in his face as he +asked Andover when Miss Gray would be relieved from duty, and if it +would be possible to see her then. + +Andover thought it might be possible, and suggested that he let Miss +Gray know of Pete's presence; but some happy instinct caused Pete to +veto that suggestion. + +"It ain't important," he told Andover. "I'll jest mosey around about +six, and step in for a minute. Don't you say I'm in town!" + +Andover gazed curiously after Pete as the latter marched out. The +surgeon shook his head. Mixed drinks were not new to Andover, but he +could not for the life of him recognize what Pete had been drinking. + +Doris, who had not been thinking of Pete at all,--as she was not a +spiritualist, and had always doubted that affinities were other than +easy excuses for uneasy morals,--came briskly down the hospital steps, +gowned in a trim gray skirt and a jacket, and a jaunty turban that hid +just enough of her brown hair to make that which was visible the more +alluring. She almost walked into Pete--for, as it has been stated, she +was not thinking of him at all, but of the cozy evening she would spend +with her sister at the latter's apartments on High Street. +Incidentally Doris was thinking, just a little, of how well her gown +and turban became her, for she had determined never to let herself +become frowsy and slipshod--Well--she had not to look far for her +antithesis. + +"Why, Mr. Annersley!" + +Pete flushed, the victim of several emotions. "Good-evenin', Miss +Gray. I--I thought I'd jest step in and say 'Hello' to that little +kid." + +"Oh! Ruth?" And Doris flushed just the least bit herself. "Why, +little Ruth is not here now." + +"Shucks! Well, I'm right glad you are! Was you goin' somewhere?" + +"Yes. Out to my sister's on High Street." + +"I only been in town two or three days, so I don't know jest where High +Street is, but I reckon I could find my way back all right." And Pete +so far forgot the perfume as to smile in his old, boyish way. + +Doris did some rapid mental calculation and concluded that her +latest--or rather her last--letter had just about arrived in Tucson, +and of course Pete had not read it. That made matters a little +difficult. But there was no reason in the world why he should not walk +with her to her sister's. + +Pete saw no reason why he should not, either, but rather a very +attractive reason why he should. + +Without further word they turned and walked down the street, Doris +wondering what in the world had induced Pete to immerse himself in +Frangipanni, and Pete wondering if there was ever a prettier girl in +the world than Doris Gray. + +And because Pete wanted to talk about something entirely impersonal, he +at once began to ask her what she thought of his latest plan, which was +to purchase an interest in the Concho, spend his summers working with +the men and his winters in Tucson, studying with Forbes about whom he +had written to her. + +Doris thought it was a splendid plan. She was sure--quite +impersonally--that he would make a success of anything he attempted. + +Pete was not so sure, and he told her so. She joked him for doubting +himself. He promptly told her that he didn't doubt himself for a +minute, but that he did doubt the willingness of the person whom he +hoped to make a partner in the venture. + +"Not Mr. Forbes?" she queried, glancing quickly at Pete's serious face. + +"Nope. It's you." + +They walked another block without speaking; then they walked still +another. And they had begun to walk still another when Pete suddenly +pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in the gutter. +"That doggone perfume is chokin' me to death!" he blurted. And Doris, +despite herself, smiled. + +They were out where the streets were more open and quiet now. The sun +was close to the edge of the desert, far in the west. Doris's hand +trembled just the least bit as she turned to say "good-night." They +had stopped in front of a house, near the edge of town. Pete's face +was a bit pale; his dark eyes were intense and gloomy. + +Quite unconscious of what he was doing, he pulled out his watch--a new +watch that possessed no erratic tendencies. Suddenly Doris thought of +Pete's old watch, and of little Ruth's extreme delight in its +irresponsible hands whirling madly around, and of that night when Pete +had been brought to the hospital. Suddenly there were two tears +trembling on her lashes, and her hand faltered. Then, being a sensible +person, she laughed away her emotion, for the time being, and invited +Pete in to supper. + +Pete thought Doris's sister a mighty nice girl, plumb sensible and not +a bit stuck up. And later, when this "plumb sensible" person declared +that she was rather tired and excused herself and disappeared, after +bidding Pete good-night, he knew that she was a sensible person. He +couldn't see how she could help it, being the sister of Doris. + +"So I'll be sayin' good-night," stated Pete a few minutes later, as he +stood by the door, proud and straight and as vital as a flame. + +But he didn't say it, at least coherently. Doris's hand was on his +sleeve. Pete thought she had a mighty pretty hand. And as for her +eyes--they were gray and misty and warm . . . and not at all like he +had ever seen them before. He laughed happily, "You look plumb +lonesome!" he said. + +"I--I was." + +Pete dropped his hat, but he did not know it until, well--several +minutes later, when Doris gave it to him. + + +It was close to midnight when a solitary policeman, passing down a side +street, heard a nocturnal singer inform dark and empty High Street that +he was + + "The Ridin' Kid from Powder River,"-- + +with other more or less interesting details. + +Pete felt a hand on his shoulder. "You better cut that out!" said the +officer. + +Pete whirled and his hand flickered toward his hip. "You go plumb +to--" Pete hesitated. The officer sniffed suspiciously. Pete +grinned--then proffered his hand with irresistible enthusiasm. + +"Sure I'll cut it out." + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +The Riverside Press + +Cambridge, Massachusetts + +U.S.A. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ridin' Kid from Powder River +by Henry Herbert Knibbs + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER *** + +***** This file should be named 16530.txt or 16530.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/3/16530/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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. 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