CHAPTER X
IN WHICH THE X Y Z FIGURES SOMEWHAT MYSTERIOUSLY
Jim Munson, riding his pony over the home trail at a slow walk, droopedsleepily in his saddle. It was not a weirdly late bedtime, half-pastten, maybe, but he would have been sleeping soundly a good hour or morehad this not been his night to go to town--if he chose. He had chosen. Hewould not have missed his chance for a good deal. But his dissipationhad been light. The Boss never tolerated much along that line. He haddrunk with some congenial cronies from the Circle E outfit complimentaryto the future well-being and increasing wealth of this alreadywell-known and flourishing cattle ranch. Of course he must drink areturn compliment to the same rose-colored prosperity for the ThreeBars, which he did and sighed for more. That made two, and two were thelimit, and here was the limit overreached already; for there had alwaysto be a last little comforter to keep him from nodding in his saddle.
Before the time arrived for that, there were some errands to be executedfor the boys on duty at the home ranch. These necessitated a call at thepost-office, the purchase of several slabs of plug tobacco, somecorn-cob pipes, and some writing material for Kin Lathrop. He must notforget the baking powder for the cook. Woe to him, Munson, if there wereno biscuits for breakfast. Meanwhile he must not neglect to gather whatlittle news was going. That would be a crime as heinous as theforgetting of the baking powder. But there didn't seem to be anythingdoing to-night. Only the sheriff was playing again behind the curtain.Couldn't fool him. Damned hypocrite!
The errands accomplished to his satisfaction and nothing forgotten, asfrequent and close inspection of the list written out by the Scribeproved, his comforter swallowed, lingeringly, and regretfully, he wasnow riding homeward, drowsy but vastly contented with the world ingeneral and particularly with his own lot therein. It was a sleepynight, cool and soft and still. He could walk his horse all the way ifhe wanted to. There was no haste. The boys would all be in bed. Theywould not even wait up for the mail, knowing his, Jim's, innate aversionto hurry. Had he not been so drowsy, he would like to have sung a bit;but it required a little too much effort. He would just plod along.
Must all be in bed at Williston's--no light anywhere. A little short ofwhere the Williston branch left the main trail, he half paused. If itwere not so late, he would ride up and give them a hail. But of coursethey were asleep. Everything seemed still and dark about the premises.He would just plod along.
"Hello, there! Where'd you come from?" he cried of a sudden, and beforehe had had time to carry his resolve into action.
A man on horseback had drawn rein directly in front of him. Jim blinkedwith the suddenness of the shock.
"Might ask you the same question," responded the other with an easylaugh. "I'm for town to see the doctor about my little girl. Been punyfor a week."
"Oh! Where you from?" asked Jim, with the courteous interest of hiskind.
"New man on the X Y Z," answered the other, lightly. "Must be gettin'on. Worried about my baby girl."
He touched spurs to his horse and was off with a friendly "So long,"over his shoulder.
Jim rode on thoughtfully.
"Now don't it beat the devil," he was thinking, "how that therecow-puncher struck this trail comin' from the X Y Z--with the X Y Z cleant'other side o' town? Yep, it beats the devil, for a fac'. He must be aridin' for his health. It beats the devil." This last was long drawnout. He rode a little farther. "It beats the devil," he thoughtagain,--the wonder of it was waking him up,--"how that blamed fool coulda' struck this here trail a goin' for Doc."
At the branch road he stopped irresolutely.
"It beats the devil--for a fac'." He looked helplessly over his shoulder.The man was beyond sight and sound. "If he hadn't said he was goin' forDoc and belonged to the X Y Z," he pondered. He was swearing because hecould not think of a way out of the maze of contradiction. He was soseldom at a loss, this braggadocio Jim. "Well, I reckon I won't get anyhe'p a moonin' here less'n I wait here till that son-of-a-gun comes backfrom seein' Doc. Lord, I'd have to camp out all night. Guess I'll be amovin' on. But I'm plumb a-foot for an idee as to how that idjit gothere from the X Y Z."
He shrugged his shoulders and picked up the fallen bridle-rein. He kepton straight ahead, and it was well for him that he did so. It was notthe last of the affair. The old, prosaic trail seemed fairly bristlingwith ghostly visitants that night. He had gone but a scant quarter-milewhen he met with a second horseman, and this time he would have sworn onoath that the man had not been on the forward trail as long as he shouldhave been to be seen in the starlight. Jim was not dozing now and heknew what he was about. The fellow struck the trail from across countryand from the direction of Williston's home cattle sheds.
"The devil!" he muttered, and this time he was in deep and terribleearnest.
"Hullo!" the fellow accosted him, genially.
"Too damned pleasant--the whole bunch of em," found quick lodgment inJim's active brain. Aloud, he responded with answering good-nature,"Hullo!"
"Where ye goin'?" asked the other, as if in no particular haste to partcompany. If he had met with a surprise, he carried it off well.
"Home. Been to town." Jim was on tenter hooks to be off.
"Belong to the Three Bars, don't you?"
"Yep."
"Thought so. Well, good luck to you."
"Say," said Jim, suddenly, "you don't happen to hang out at the X Y Z,do you?"
"Naw! What d'ye suppose I'd be doing here this time of night if I did?"There was scorn in his voice and suspicion, too. "Why?" he asked.
"Oh, nothin'. Thought I knew your build, but I guess I was mistaken. Solong."
He had an itching desire to ask if this night traveller, too, was inquest of the doctor, but caution held him silent. He had need to proceedwarily. He rode briskly along until he judged he had gone far enough toallay suspicion, then he halted suddenly. Very wide-awake was Jim now.His hand rested unconsciously on the Colt's 45, protruding from hisloosely hanging belt. His impulse was to ride boldly back and up toWilliston's door, and thus satisfy himself as to what was doing somysteriously. There was not a cowardly drop in Jim's circulation. But iffoul play was abroad for Williston that night, he, Jim, of course, wasspotted and would never be permitted to reach the house. It would mean auseless sacrifice. Now, he needed to be alive. There was a crying needfor his good and active service. Afterwards--well, it was all in theday's work. It wouldn't so much matter then. He touched spurs lightly,bent his head against the friction of the air and urged his horse to themaddest, wildest race he had ever run since that day long ago, to beforgotten by neither, when he had been broken to his master's will.
* * * * *
Paul Langford dropped one shoe nervelessly to the wolfskin in front ofhis bed. Though his bachelor room was plain in most respects, plain forthe better convenience of the bachelor hands that had it to put torights every day,--with the exception of a cook, Langford kept noservant,--the wolfskin here, an Indian blanket thrown over a stiff chairby the table, a Japanese screen concealing the ugly little sheet-ironstove that stood over in its corner all the year round, gave evidencethat his tastes were really luxurious. An oil lamp was burning dimly onthe table. The soot of many burnings adhered to the chimney's innerside.
"One would know it was Jim's week by looking at that chimney," mutteredthe Boss, eyeing the offending chimney discontentedly as he dropped theother shoe. "He seems to have an inborn aversion to cleaning chimneys.It must be a birthmark, or maybe he was too anxious to get to townto-night. I see I'll have to discipline Jim. I have to stop and thinkeven now, sometimes, who's boss of this shebang, he or I. Sometimes I'minclined to the opinion that he is. Come to think of it, though,"whimsically, "I lean to a vague misgiving that I didn't touch thatlow-down chimney myself last week. We're kind of an ornery set, I'mthinking, every mother's son of us--and I'm the worst of the lot.Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better for the bunch of us, if oneof the boys were to marry and bring his girl
to the Three Bars. But I'llbe hanged if I know which one I'd care to give up to the femininegender. Besides, she'd be bossy--they all are--and she'd wear blue calicowrappers in the morning--they all do."
He began pacing the floor in his stocking feet.
"Wish I could get that blamed little girl of Williston's out of my headto-night. Positively red-headed. Well, call it auburn for the sake ofpoliteness. What's the difference? She's a winner, though. Wonder why Ididn't know about her before? Wonder if Dick's in love with her?Shouldn't wonder. He's plumb daffy on the subject of the old man. Neverthought of that before. Or maybe it's Jim. No, she's not his kind." Hestopped for a moment at the open window and looked out into the still,starry night "Guess I'll have to let the Scribe commit matrimony, ifhe's 'willin'.' He's the only one of the bunch--fit."
The sound of galloping hoof-beats on the hard road below came up to himas he stood at the window. A solitary horseman was coming that way andhe was putting his horse to the limit, too.
"Who the--deuce," began Langford. "It's Jim's cow pony as sure as I'm asinner! What brings him home at that pace, I wonder? Is he drunk?"
He peered out indifferently. The hoof-beats rang nearer and nearer,clattered through the stable yards and, before they ceased, two or threerevolver shots rang out in rapid succession. Jim had fired into the airto arouse the house.
Springing from his reeking bronco, he ran quickly to the stable andthrew wide the door. Here the Boss, the first to gain the outsidebecause already dressed, found him hastily saddling a fresh mount.Langford asked no question. That would come later. He stepped silentlyto Sade's stall.
In an incredibly short space of time the rest of the boys came leapingout of the ranchhouse, slamming the door behind them. To be up and doingwas the meat they fed upon. In less than ten minutes they were allmounted and ready, five of them, silent, full to the brim of recklesshardihood, prime for any adventure that would serve to break themonotony of their lives. More than that, every fibre of their being,when touched, would respond, a tuneful, sounding string of loyalty tothe traditions of the Three Bars and to its young master. Each was fullyarmed. They asked no question. Yet there could be no doubt of a surprisewhen the time came for action. They were always prepared, these boys ofthe most popular ranch outfit west of the river. Right in the face ofthis popularity, perhaps because of it, they were a bit overbearing,these boys, and held fellowship with any outside the Three Bars a thingnot to be lightly entered into. It was a fine thing to work for theBoss, and out of the content accruing therefrom sprang a conservatismlike that of the proudest aristocrat of the land.
Langford took the trail first. Jim had said but the one word,"Williston." It was enough. Nothing was to be heard but the rapid thoughregular pound of hoof-beats on the level trail. It is a silent country,the cow country, and its gravity begets gravity.
Langford, riding slightly in advance, was having a bad time withhimself. The keenest self-reproach was stabbing him like a physicalpain. His honor--his good honor, that he held so high and stainless--washis word not given by it that the Willistons might count on his sureprotection? What had he done to merit this proud boast? Knowing thatJesse Black was once more at liberty, fully realizing of what vastimport to the State would be Williston's testimony when the rustlersshould be brought to trial, he had sat stupidly back and done nothing.And he had promised. Would Williston have had the courage without thatpromise? Why were not some of his cowboys even now sleeping with an eyeupon that little claim shack where lived that scholar-man who was notfit for the rough life of the plains, maybe, but who had been braveenough and high-minded enough to lay his all on the white altar oftelling what he knew for right's sake. And the girl--
"God! The girl!" he cried aloud.
"What did you say, Boss?" asked Jim, pounding alongside.
"Nothing!" said Langford, curtly.
He spurred his mare savagely. In the shock of the surprise, and thesting that his neglected word brought him, he had forgotten thegirl--Williston's "little girl" with the grave eyes--the girl who was notten but twenty and more--the girl who had waited for him, whom he hadsent on her long way alone, joyously, as one free of a duty thatpromised to be irksome--the girl who had brought the blood to his facewhen, ashamed, he had galloped off to the spring--the girl who had closedher door when a man's curious eyes had roved that way. How could heforget?
The little cavalcade swept on with increased speed, following the leadof the master. Soon the sound of shooting was borne to them distinctlythrough the quiet night.
"Thank God, boys!" cried Langford, digging in his spurs, once more."They are not surprised! Listen! God! What a plucky fight! If they canonly hold out!"
At that moment a tiny tongue of flame leaped up away to the front ofthem, gleaming in the darkness like a beacon light. Now there weretwo--they grew, spread, leaped heavenward in mad revel. Langford's heartsank like lead. He groaned in an exceeding bitterness of spirit. Theworst had happened. Would they be in time? These claim shanties burnlike paper. And the girl! He doubted not that she had sustained hershare of the good fight. She had fought like a man, she must die like aman,--would be the outlaw's reasoning. He believed she would die like aman--if that meant bravely,--but something clutched at his heart-stringswith the thought. Her big, solemn eyes came back to him now as they hadlooked when she had lifted them to him gravely as he sat his horse andshe had said she had waited for him. Was she waiting now?
The boys rallied to the new impetus gloriously. They knew now what itmeant and their hardy hearts thrilled to the excitement of it, and thedanger. They swept from the main trail into the dimmer one leading toWilliston's, without diminution of speed. Presently, the Boss drew reinwith a suddenness that would have played havoc with the equilibrium ofless seasoned horsemen than cowboys. They followed with the precisionand accord of trained cavalrymen. Now and then could be seen a black,sinister figure patrolling the burning homestead, but hugging closelythe outer skirt of darkness, waiting for the doomed door to open.
"Boys!" began Langford. But he never gave the intended command to chargeat once with wild shouting and shooting to frighten away the maraudersand give warning to the besieged that rescue was at hand. For at thatmoment the door opened, and Williston and his daughter stepped out infull view of raider and rescuer. Would there be parley? A man, slouchingin his saddle, rode up into the circle of lurid light. Was it JesseBlack? There was something hauntingly familiar about the droop of theshoulders. That was all; hardly enough to hang a man.
Langford raised his rifle quickly. His nerves were perfectly steady. Hissight was never truer. His bullet went straight to the rifle arm of theoutlaw; with a ringing shout he rallied his comrades, spurred his ponyforward, and the little party charged the astounded raiders with a furyof shots that made each rustler stand well to his own support, leavingthe Willistons, for the time being, free from their attention.
The desperadoes were on the run. They cared to take no risk ofidentification. It was not easy to determine how many there were. Thereseemed a half-dozen or more, but probably four or five at the most wouldtell their number.
The flames were sinking. Williston had disappeared. The boys scatteredin wild pursuit. Wheeling his horse, Langford was in time to see a big,muscular fellow swing a girlish form to the saddle in front of him.Quick as a flash he spurred forward, lifted his heavy Colt's revolverhigh over his head and brought it down on the fellow's skull with aforce that knocked him senseless without time for a sigh or moan. As hisarms fell lax and he toppled in his saddle, Langford caught the girl andswung her free of entanglement.
"Poor little girl," he breathed over her as her white face dropped withunconscious pathos against his big shoulder. "Poor little girl--I'msorry--I didn't mean to--honest--I'm sorry." He chafed her hands gently."And I don't know where your father is, either. Are you hurt anywhere,or have you only fainted? God knows I don't wonder. It was hellish. Why,child, child, your arm! It is broken! Oh, little girl, I didn't meanto--honest--honest. I'm sorry."
"We can't find him, Boss. They've carried him off, dead or alive."
"Is it so, Jim? Are you sure? How far did you follow?"
"We must have followed the wrong lead. If any one was ridin' double, itwasn't the ones we was after, that's one thing sure. The blamed hossthieves pulled clean away from us. Our hosses were plumb winded anyway.And--there's a deader out there, Boss," lowering his voice; "I found himas I came back."
"That explains why no one was riding double," said Langford,thoughtfully.
"How's the gal, Boss?"
"I don't know, Jim. I--don't know what to do now."
His eyes were full of trouble.
"Ain't no use cryin' over spilt milk and that's a fac'. 'Bout assensible as a tryin' to pick it up after it is spilt. We won't findWilliston this here night, that's one thing sure. So we'll just tote thelittle gal home to the Three Bars with us."
The boys were returning, silent, gloomy, disconsolate. They eyed theBoss tentatively. Would they receive praise or censure? They had workedhard.
"You're all right, boys," said Langford, smiling away their gloom. "Butabout the girl. There is no woman at the Three Bars, you know--"
"So you'd leave her out all night to the dew and the coyotes and thehoss thieves, would you," interrupted Jim, with a fine sarcasm, "jestbecause there ain't no growed-up woman at the Three Bars? What d'yethink Williston's little gal'd care for style? She ain't afraid o' usol' grizzled fellers. I hope to the Lord there won't never be nogrowed-up woman at the Three Bars,--yep, that's what I hope. I think thatmouse-haired gal reporter'd be just tumble fussy, and I think she's agoin' to marry a down Easterner chap, anyway."
"Just pick up that fellow, will you, boys, and strap him to his horse,and we'll take him along," said Langford. "I don't believe he's dead."
"What fellow?" asked the Scribe, peering casually about.
Langford had unconsciously ridden forward a bit to meet the boys as theyhad clattered up shamefacedly. Now he turned.
"Why, that fellow over there. I knocked him out."
He rode back slowly. There was no man there, nor the trace of a man.They stared at each other a moment, silently. Then Langford spoke.
"No, I am not going to leave Williston's little girl out in the dew," hesaid, with an inscrutable smile. "While some of you ride in to get someone to see about that body out there and bring out the doctor, I'll takeher over to White's for to-night, anyway. Mrs. White will care for her.Then perhaps we will send for the 'gal reporter,' Jim."
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