by Max Brand
CHAPTER X
A BIT OF STALKING
It seemed as if the peaceful afternoons of Logan were ended forever, forthe next day the scene of interruption was repeated under almostidentical circumstances, save that the tree under which the shepherd satwas a little larger. Larger also was the man who rode over the brow ofthe hill to the east. The most durable cattle-pony would have staggeredunder the bulk of that rider, and therefore he rode a great,patient-eyed bay, with shoulders worthy of shoving against awork-collar; but the neck tapered down small behind a short head, andthe legs, for all their breadth at shoulder and hip, slipped away tosmall hoofs, and ankles which sloped sharply to the rear, the sure signof the fine saddle-horse.
Yet the strong horse was winded by the burden he bore, a mighty figure,deep-chested, amply shouldered, an ideal cavalier for the days whenyouths rode out in armour-plate to seek adventures and when men offifty still lifted the lance to run a "friendly" course or two in thelists.
At sight of him Logan so far bestirred himself as to uncoil his longlegs, rise, and stand with one shoulder propped against the tree.
"Evening, Mr. Drew," he called.
"Hello, Logan. How's everything with you?"
He would have ridden on, but at Logan's reply he checked his horse to aslow walk.
"Busy. Lots of company lately, Mr. Drew."
"Company?"
"Yes, there's a young feller come along who says he wants to see you.He's over there by the creek now, fishin' I think. I told him I'd hollerif I seen you, but I guess you wouldn't mind ridin' over that wayyourself."
Drew brought his horse to a halt.
"What does he want of me?"
"Dunno. Something about wanting to hunt and fish on your streams here."
"Why didn't you tell him he was welcome to do what he liked? Must be anEasterner, Logan."
"Wants to bunk in the old house, too. Seems sort of interested in it."
"That so? What sort of a fellow is he?"
"All right. A bit talky. Green; but he rides damn well, an' he smokesgood tobacco."
His hand automatically rose and touched his breast pocket.
"I'll go over to him," said Drew, and swung his horse to the left, butonly to come again to a halt.
He called over his shoulder: "What sort of a looking fellow?"
"Pretty keen--dark," answered Logan, slipping down into his originalposition. "Thin face; black eyes."
"Ah, yes," murmured Drew, and started at a trot for the creek.
Once more he imitated the actions of Bard the day before, however, forno sooner had the trees screened him thoroughly from the eyes of Loganthan he abandoned his direct course for the creek. He swung from thesaddle with an ease surprising in a man of such age and bulk and tossedthe reins over the head of the horse.
Then he commenced a cautious stalking through the woods, silent as anIndian, stealthy of foot, with eyes that glanced sharply in alldirections. Once a twig snapped under foot, and after that he remainedmotionless through a long moment, shrinking against the trunk of a treeand scanning the forest anxiously in all directions. At length heventured out again, grown doubly cautious. In this manner he worked hisway up the course of the stream, always keeping the waters just withinsight but never passing out on the banks, where the walking would havebeen tenfold easier. So he came in sight of a figure far off through thetrees.
If he had been cautious before, he became now as still as night.Dropping to hands and knees, or crouching almost as prone, he moved fromthe shadow of one tree to the next, now and then venturing a glance tomake sure that he was pursuing the right course, until he manoeuvred toa point of vantage which commanded a clear view of Bard.
The latter was fishing, with his back to Drew. Again and again he casthis fly out under an overhanging limb which shadowed a deep pool. Thebig grey man set his teeth and waited with the patience of a stalkingbeast of prey, or a cat which will sit half the day waiting for themouse to show above the opening of its hole.
Apparently there was a bite at length. The pole bent almost double andthe reel played back and forth rapidly as the fisher wore down hisvictim. Finally he came close to the edge of the stream, dipped his netinto the water, and jerked it up at once bearing a twisting, shiningtrout enwrapped in the meshes. Swinging about as he did so, Drew caughthis first full glimpse of Anthony's face, and knew him for the man whohad ridden the wild horse at Madison Square Garden those weeks before.
Perhaps it was astonishment that moved the big man--surely it could nothave been fear--yet he knelt there behind the sheltering treegrey-faced, wide, and blank of eye, as a man might look who dreamed andawoke to see his vision standing before him in full sunlit life. Whathis expression became then could not be said, for he buried his face inhis hands and his great body shook with a tremor. If this was not fearit was something very like.
And very like a man in fear he stole back among the trees as cautiouslyas he had made his approach. Resuming his horse he rode straight forLogan.
"Couldn't find your young friend," he said, "along the creek."
"Why," said Logan, "I can reach him with a holler from here, I think."
"Never mind; just tell him that he's welcome to do what he pleases onthe place; and he can bunk down at the house if he wants to. I'd like toknow his name, though."
"That's easy. Anthony Bard."
"Ah," said Drew slowly, "Anthony Bard!"
"That's it," nodded Logan, and fixed a curious eye upon the big greyrider.
As if to escape from that inquiring scrutiny, Drew wheeled his horse andspurred at a sharp gallop up the hill, leaving Logan frowning behind.
"No stay over night," muttered the shepherd. "No fooling about thatdamned old shack of a house; what's wrong with Drew?"
He answered himself, for all shepherds are forced by the bitterloneliness of their work to talk with themselves. "The old boy'sworried. Damned if he isn't! I'll keep an eye on this Bard feller."
And he loosened the revolver in its holster.
He might have been even more concerned had he seen the redoubled speedwith which Drew galloped as soon as the hilltop was between him andLogan. Straight on he pushed his horse, not exactly like one who fledbut rather more like one too busy with consuming thoughts to pay theslightest heed to the welfare of his mount. It was a spent horse onwhich he trotted late that night up to the big, yawning door of hisbarn.
"Where's Nash?" he asked of the man who took his horse.
"Playing a game with the boys in the bunk-house, sir."
So past the bunk-house Drew went on his way to his dwelling, knocked,and threw open the door. Inside, a dozen men, seated at or standingaround a table, looked up.
"Nash!"
"Here."
"On the jump, Nash. I'm in a hurry."
There rose a man of a build much prized in pugilistic circles. In thosesame circles he would have been described as a fellow with a fightingface and a heavy-weight above the hips and a light-weight below--ahandsome fellow, except that his eyes were a little too small and hislips a trifle too thin. He rose now in the midst of a general groan ofdismay, and scooped in a considerable stack of gold as well as severalbright piles of silver; he was undoubtedly taking the glory of the gamewith him.
"Is this square?" growled one of the men clenching his fist on the edgeof the table.
The sardonic smile hardened on the lips of Nash as he answered: "Beforeyou've been here much longer, Pete, you'll find out that abouteverything I do is square. Sorry to leave you, boys, before you'rebroke, but orders is orders."
"But one more hand first," pleaded Pete.
"You poor fool," snarled Nash, "d'you think I'll take a chance onkeepin' _him_ waiting?"
The last of his winnings passed with a melodious jingling into hispockets and he went hurriedly out of the bunk-house and up to the mainbuilding. There he found Drew in the room which the rancher used as anoffice, and stood at the door hat in hand.
"Come in; sit down," said "_him_." "Been taking
the money from the boysagain, Steve? I thought I talked with you about that a month ago?"
"It's this way, Mr. Drew," explained Nash, "with me stayin' away fromthe cards is like a horse stayin' off its feed. Besides, I done thesquare thing by the lot of those short-horns."
"How's that?"
"I showed 'em my hand."
"Told them you were a professional gambler?"
"Sure. I explained they didn't have no chance against me."
"And of course that made them throw every cent they had against you?"
"Maybe."
"It can't go on, Nash."
"Look here, Mr. Drew. I told 'em that I wasn't a gambler but just agold-digger."
The big man could not restrain his smile, though it came like a shadowof mirth rather than the sunlight.
"After all, they might as well lose it to you as to someone else."
"Sure," grinned Nash, "it keeps it in the family, eh?"
"But one of these days, Steve, crooked cards will be the end of you."
"I'm still pretty fast on the draw," said Steve sullenly.
"All right. That's your business. Now I want you to listen to some ofmine."
"Real work?"
"Your own line."
"That," said Nash, with a smile of infinite meaning, "sounds like thedinner bell to me. Let her go, sir!"
