by Max Brand
CHAPTER XI
THE QUEST BEGINS
"You know the old place on the other side of the range?"
"Like a book. I got pet names for all the trees."
"There's a man there I want."
"Logan?"
"No. His name is Bard."
"H-m! Any relation of the old bird that was partners with you back aboutthe year one?"
"I want Anthony Bard brought here," said. Drew, entirely overlooking thequestion.
"Easy. I can make the trip in a buckboard and I'll dump him in the backof it."
"No. He's got to _ride_ here, understand?"
"A dead man," said Nash calmly, "ain't much good on a hoss."
"Listen to me," said Drew, his voice lowering to a sort of musicalthunder, "if you harm a hair of this lad's head I'll-I'll break you intwo with my own hands."
And he made a significant gesture as if he were snapping a twig betweenhis fingers. Nash moistened his lips, then his square, powerful jawjutted out.
"Which the general idea is me doing baby talk and sort of hypnotizingthis Bard feller into coming along?"
"More than that. He's got to be brought here alive, untouched, andplaced in that chair tied so that he can't move hand or foot for tenminutes while I talk."
"Nice, quiet day you got planned for me, Mr. Drew."
The grey man considered thoughtfully.
"Now and then you've told me of a girl at Eldara--I think her name isSally Fortune?"
"Right. She begins where the rest of the calico leaves off."
"H-m! that sounds familiar, somehow. Well, Steve, you've said that ifyou had a good start you think the girl would marry you."
"I think she might."
"She pretty fond of you?"
"She knows that if I can't have her I'm fast enough to keep everyoneelse away."
"I see. A process of elimination with you as the eliminator. Rather anodd courtship, Steve?"
The cowpuncher grew deadly serious.
"You see, I love her. There ain't no way of bucking out of that. So donine out of ten of all the boys that've seen her. Which one will shepick? That's the question we all keep askin', because of all thecontrary, freckle-faced devils with the heart of a man an' the smile ofa woman, Sally has 'em all beat from the drop of the barrier. One fellerhas money; another has looks; another has a funny line of talk. But I'vegot the fastest gun. So Sally sees she's due for a complete outfit ofblack mournin' if she marries another man while I'm alive; an' thatkeeps her thinkin'. But if I had the price of a start in the world--why,maybe she'd take a long look at me."
"Would she call one thousand dollars in cash a start in the world--andyour job as foreman of my place, with twice the salary you have now?"
Steve Nash wiped his forehead.
He said huskily: "A joke along this line don't bring no laugh from me,governor."
"I mean it, Steve. Get Anthony Bard tied hand and foot into this houseso that I can talk to him safely for ten minutes, and you'll haveeverything I promise. Perhaps more. But that depends."
The blunt-fingered hand of Nash stole across the table.
"If it's a go, shake, Mr. Drew."
A mighty hand fell in his, and under the pressure he set his teeth.Afterward he covertly moved his fingers and sighed with relief to seethat no permanent harm had been done.
"Me speakin' personal, Mr. Drew, I'd of give a lot to seen you when youwas ridin' the range. This Bard--he'll be here before sunset to-morrow."
"Don't jump to conclusions, Steve. I've an idea that before you countyour thousand you'll think that you've been underpaid. That's straight."
"This Bard is something of a man?"
"I can say that without stopping to think."
"Texas?"
"No. He's a tenderfoot, but he can ride a horse as if he was sewed tothe skin, and I've an idea that he can do other things up to the samestandard. If you can find two or three men who have silent tongues andstrong hands, you'd better take them along. I'll pay their wages, andbig ones. You can name your price."
But Nash was frowning.
"Now and then I talk to the cards a bit, Mr. Drew, and you'll hearfellers say some pretty rough things about me, but I've never asked forno odds against any man. I'm not going to start now."
"You're a hard man, Steve, but so am I; and hard men are the kind I taketo. I know that you're the best foreman who ever rode this range and Iknow that when you start things you generally finish them. All that Iask is that you bring Bard to me in this house. The way you do it isyour own problem. Drunk or drugged, I don't care how, but get him hereunharmed. Understand?"
"Mr. Drew, you can start figurin' what you want to say to him now. I'llget him here--safe! And then Sally--"
"If money will buy her you'll have me behind you when you bid."
"When shall I start?"
"Now."
"So-long, then."
He rose and passed hastily from the room, leaning forward from the hipslike a man who is making a start in a foot-race.
Straight up the stairs he went to his room, for the foreman lived in thebig house of the rancher. There he took a quantity of equipment from acloset and flung it on the bed. Over three selections he lingered long.
The first was the cartridge belt, and he tried over several withconscientious care until he found the one which received the cartridgeswith the greatest ease. He could flip them out in the night,automatically as a pianist fingers the scale in the dark.
Next he examined lariats painfully, inch by inch, as though he weregoing out to rope the stanchest steer that ever roamed the range.Already he knew that those ropes were sound and true throughout, but hetook no chances now. One of the ropes he discarded because one or twostrands in it were, or might be, a trifle frayed. The others he tookalternately and whirled with a broad loop, standing in the centre of theroom. Of the set one was a little more supple, a little more durable, itseemed. This he selected and coiled swiftly.
Last of all he lingered--and longest--over his revolvers. Six in all, heset them in a row along the bed and without delay threw out two to beginwith. Then he fingered the others, tried their weight and balance,slipped cartridges into the cylinders and extracted them again, whirledthe cylinders, examined the minutest parts of the actions.
They were all such guns as an expert would have turned over with shiningeyes, but finally he threw one aside into the discard; the cylinderrevolved just a little too hard. Another was abandoned after muchhandling of the remaining three because to the delicate touch of Nash itseemed that the weight of the barrel was a gram more than in the othertwo; but after this selection it seemed that there was no possiblechoice between the final two.
So he stood in the centre of the room and went through a series of oddgymnastics. Each gun in turn he placed in the holster and then jerked itout, spinning it on the trigger guard around his second finger, whilehis left hand shot diagonally across his body and "fanned" the hammer.Still he could not make his choice, but he would not abandon the effort.It was an old maxim with him that there is in all the world one gunwhich is the best of all and with which even a novice can become a"killer."
He tried walking away, whirling as he made his draw, and levelling thegun on the door-knob. Then without moving his hand, he lowered his headand squinted down the sights. In each case the bead was drawn to acentre shot. Last of all he weighed each gun; one seemed a triflelighter--the merest shade lighter than the other. This he slipped intothe holster and carried the rest of his apparatus back to the closetfrom which he had taken it.
Still the preparation had not ended. Filling his cartridge belt, everycartridge was subject to a rigid inspection. A full half hour was wastedin this manner. Wasted, because he rejected not one of the many heexamined. Yet he seemed happier after having made his selection, andwent down the stairs, humming softly.
Out to the barn he went, lantern in hand. This time he made nocomparison of horses but went directly to an ugly-headed roan, long ofleg, vicious of ey
e, thin-shouldered, and with hips that slanted sharplydown. No one with a knowledge of fine horse-flesh could have looked onthis brute without aversion. It did not have even size in its favour. Awild, free spirit, perhaps, might be the reason; but the animal stoodwith hanging head and pendant lower lip. One eye was closed and theother only half opened. A blind affection, then, made him go to thishorse first of all.
No, his greeting was to jerk his knee sharply into the ribs of the roan,which answered with a grunt and swung its head around with bared teeth,like an angry dog. "Damn your eyes!" roared the hoarse voice of SteveNash, "stand still or I'll knock you for a goal!"
The ears of the mustang flattened close to its neck and a devil of hatecame up in its eyes, but it stood quiet, while Nash went about at ajudicious distance and examined all the vital points. The hoofs weresound, the backbone prominent, but not a high ridge from famine or muchhard riding, and the indomitable hate in the eyes of the mustang seemedto please the cowpuncher.
It was a struggle to bridle the beast, which was accomplished only bygrinding the points of his knuckles into a tender part of the jowl tomake the locked teeth open.
In saddling, the knee came into play again, rapping the ribs of thebrute repeatedly before the wind, which swelled out the chest to falseproportions, was expelled in a sudden grunt, and the cinch whipped uptaut. After that Nash dodged the flying heels, chose his time, andvaulted into the saddle.
The mustang trotted quietly out of the barn. Perhaps he had had his fillof bucking on that treacherous, slippery wooden floor, but once outsidehe turned loose the full assortment of the cattle-pony's tricks. It wasonly ten minutes, but while it lasted the cursing of Nash was loud andsteady, mixed with the crack of his murderous quirt against the roan'sflanks. The bucking ended as quickly as it had begun, and they startedat a long canter over the trail.
