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LOUISIANA LOU
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He saw the trail across the canyon alive with moving men and beasts. (_Frontispiece--Page 261_)]
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Louisiana Lou
_A Western Story_
BY
WILLIAM WEST WINTER
AUTHOR OF
"The Count of Ten"
Chelsea House logo]
CHELSEA HOUSE
79 Seventh Avenue New York City
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Copyright, 1922 By CHELSEA HOUSE
Louisiana Lou
(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE PROLOGUE 11 I. A GENERAL DEMOTED 32 II. MORGAN LA FEE 42 III. A SPORTING PROPOSITION 54 IV. HEADS! I WIN! 66 V. A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 78 VI. WHERE THE DESERT HAD BEEN 94 VII. MAID MARIAN GROWN UP 103 VIII. GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS 112 IX. BEHIND PRISON BARS 123 X. THE GET-AWAY 140 XI. JIM BANKER HITS THE TRAIL 153 XII. A REMINDER OF OLD TIMES 162 XIII. AT WALLACE'S RANCH 174 XIV. READY FOR ACTION 182 XV. THE SHERIFF FINDS A CLEW 189 XVI. IN THE SOLITUDES OF THE CANYON 203 XVII. THE SECRET OF THE LOST MINE 217 XVIII. TELLTALE BULLETS 236 XIX. THE FINDING OF SUCATASH 247 XX. LOUISIANA! 259 XXI. GOLD SEEKERS 271 XXII. VENGEANCE! 283 XXIII. TO THE VALE OF AVALON 298
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LOUISIANA LOU
PROLOGUE
The sun was westering over Ike Brandon's ranch at Twin Forks. It wasthe first year of a new century when the old order was giving place tothe new. Yet there was little to show the change that had alreadybegun to take place in the old West. The desert still stretched awaydrearily to the south where it ended against the faint, dim line ofthe Esmeralda Mountains. To the north it stretched again, unpopulatedand unmarked until it merged into prairie grass and again intomountains. To west and east it stretched, brown and dusty. To thesouth was the State of Nevada and to the north the State of Idaho. Butit was all alike; bare, brown rolling plain, with naught of greennessexcept at the ranch where the creek watered the fields and, stretchingback to the north, the thread of bushy willows and cottonwoods thatlined it from its source in the mountains.
Ike Brandon was, himself, a sign of change and of new conditions,though he did not know it. A sheepman, grazing large herds of woollypests in a country which, until recently, had been the habitat ofcattlemen exclusively, he was a symbol of conquest. He remembered thepetty warfare that had marked the coming of his kind, a warfare thathe had survived and which had ended in a sort of sullen tolerance ofhis presence. A few years ago he had gone armed with rifle and pistol,and his herders had been weaponed against attack. Now he strode hisacres unafraid and unthreatened, and his employees carried rifle orsix-shooter only for protection against prowling coyotes or "loafer"wolves. Although the cow hands of his erstwhile enemies still beltedthemselves with death, they no longer made war. The sheep had come tostay.
The worst that he and his had to expect was a certain coldness towardhimself on the part of the cattle aristocracy, and a measure ofcontempt and dislike toward his "Basco" herders on the part of therough-riding and gentle-speaking cow hands.
These things troubled him little. He had no near neighbors. To thenorth, across the Idaho border, there was none nearer than SulphurFalls, where the Serpentine, rushing tumultuously from the mountains,twisted in its canyon bed and squirmed away to westward and northwardafter making a gigantic loop that took it almost to the Line. To thesouth, a ranch at Willow Spring, where a stubborn cattleman hung on inspite of growing barrenness due to the hated sheep, was forty milesaway. To east and west was no one within calling distance.
At Sulphur Falls were two or three "nesters," irrigating land from theriver, a store or two and a road house run by an unsavory holdover ofthe old days named "Snake" Murphy. For a hundred and twenty-five milesto southward was unbroken land. The cattle were mostly gone--though indays to come they were to return again in some measure. Even theEsmeralda Mountains were no longer roamed by populous herds. They werebare and forbidding, except where the timber was heavy, for the sheepof Brandon and others, rushing in behind the melting snow in thespring, had cropped the tender young grass before it had a chance togrow strong.
Brandon's ranch was an idyllic spot, however. His dead wife and, afterher, her daughter, also dead, had given it the touch of femininehands. Vines and creepers half hid the dingy house behind a festoon ofgreen and blossoms. Around it the lush fields of clover were brilliantand cool in the expanse of brown sultriness. And here, Ike, nowgrowing old, lived in content with his idolized granddaughter, Marian,who was about six years old.
Brandon, at peace with the world, awaited the return from the summerrange of "French Pete," his herder, who was to bring in one of thelargest flocks for an experiment in winter feeding at and in thevicinity of the ranch. The other flocks and herders would, as usual,feed down from the mountains out into the desert, where they wouldwinter.
Little Marian hung on the swinging gate which opened onto the apologyfor a wagon road. She liked quaint French Pete and looked forward tohis return with eagerness. Like her grandfather, he always spoiledher, slavishly submitting to her every whim because she reminded himof his own _p'tit b?b?_, in his far-away, Pyrenean home. Marian wasused to being spoiled. She was as beautiful as a flower and, already,a veritable tyrant over men.
But now she saw no sign of French Pete and, being too young forconcentration, she let her glance rove to other points of the compass.So she was first to become aware that a rider came from the north, thedirection of Sulphur Falls, and she called her grandfather to come andsee.
The horseman loped easily into sight through the brown dust that roseabout him. His horse was slim and clean limbed and ran steadily, butBrandon noted that it was showing signs of a long journey made toofast. It was a good horse, but it would not go much farther at thepace it was keeping.
And then he frowned as he recognized the rider. It was a young man, orrather, boy, about nineteen or twenty years old, rather dandifiedafter the cow-puncher fashion, sporting goatskin chaps
andsilver-mounted bridle and spurs, silk neckerchief, and flat-brimmedhat of the style now made common by the Boy Scouts. His shirt wasflannel, and his heavy roping saddle studded with silver conchas. Hewas belted with heavy cartridges, and a holster strapped down to hisleg showed the butt of a six-shooter polished by constant handling.
"It's that damned Louisiana!" said Brandon, with disgust.
The rider trotted through the gate which he swung open and dropped tothe ground before the little veranda. Marian had run back behind thevines whence she peered at him half curiously and half afraid. Theyoung fellow, teetering on his high heels, reached for her and,smiling from pleasant eyes, swung her into the air and lifted herhigh, bringing her down to his face and kissing her.
"Howdy, little Lily Bud!" he said, in a voice which was a soft blendof accents, the slurred Southern, the drawled Southwestern, andsomething subtly foreign.
He was a handsome, slender, dashing figure, and Marian's gleeful echoto his laughter claimed him as her own. Even Ike Brandon relaxed andgrinned. If the little lady of his heart adopted the stranger, Ikewould put aside his prejudice. True, the man was that vanishingrarity, a reputed gunman, uncannily skilled with six-shooter andfrowned on by a Western sentiment, new grown, for law and order, whichhad determined to have peace if it had to wage war to accomplish it.
After all, reflected Ike, the boy, though noted for skill and acertain arrogance which accompanied it, was not yet a killer. Theyounger element among the cowmen, reckless enough though it was,boasted no such skill as had been common with its fathers. Theycarried weapons, but they recognized their limitations and there werefew of them who would care to test the skill that this young man wassupposed to possess. He might, and probably would, go through lifepeaceably enough, though he was, potentially, as dangerous as arattlesnake.
"I reckon you could eat," he remarked, and Louisiana agreed.
"I reckon I can," he said. "And my old hoss can wrastle a bag of oats,too. He's got a ride in front of him and he'd appreciate a chance torest and limber up."
"You'll stay the night?"
"No, thanks, seh! An hour or two's all I can spare. Got businesssomewhere else."
Brandon did not urge nor show curiosity. That was not etiquette. Butlittle Marian, taken with the new acquaintance, broke into a wail.
"I want you should stay while I show you my dolly that Pete made me!"she cried, imperiously. Louisiana laughed and ruffled her curls.
"You show me while I eat," he said. Then he followed Ike into thecabin, debonair and apparently unconcerned. The little girl came too,and, as the Mexican servant set the table, the stranger talked andlaughed with her, telling her stories which he made up as he wentalong, tying his neckerchief into strange shapes of dolls and animalsfor her, fascinating her with a ready charm that won, not only her,but Ike himself.
He had seen that his horse was fed, and, after he had eaten, he satunconcerned on the veranda and played with the little girl who, bynow, was fairly doting on him. But at last he rose to go and shevoiced her sorrow by wails and commands to stay, which he sorrowfullydefied.
"I've got to ramble, little Lily Bud," he told her as he led hisresaddled and refreshed horse from the stable. "But don't you fret.I'll come roamin' back hereaways some o' these days when you've donemarried you a prince."
"Don't want to marry a prince!" screamed Marian. "Don't want to marryno one but you-ou! You got to stay!"
"When I come back I sure will stay a whole lot, sweetheart. See here,now, you-all don't cry no more and when I come back I'll sure comea-ridin' like this Lochinvar sport and marry you-all a whole lot.That's whatever! How'd you like that!"
"When will you come?" demanded Marian.
"Oh, right soon, honey! And you'll sure have a tame and dotin'husband, I can tell you. But now, good-by!"
"You'll come back?"
"You're shoutin', I will! With a preacher and a license and all thetrimmin's. We'll certainly have one all-whoopin' weddin' when I comerackin' in, Petty! Kiss me good-by, like a nice sweetheart and justdream once in a while of Louisiana, won't you?"
"I'll say your name in my prayers," she assured him, watching himdoubtfully and hopefully as he wheeled his horse, striving to keepback the tears.
And then he was gone, riding at a mile-eating pace toward the southand the Esmeralda Mountains.
Two hours later a tired group of men and horses loped in and wanted toknow where he had gone. They were on his trail for, it seemed, he hadshot "Snake" Murphy in his own road house in a quarrel over some drabof the place who was known as Lizzie Lewis.
Ike was cautious. It was not a regularly deputized posse and themembers were rather tough friends of Murphy. Between the two, hepreferred Louisiana. He remembered how unconcernedly that young manhad waited until he and his horse were fed and rested, though he musthave known that Death was on his trail. And how he had laughed andpetted Marian. There was good in the boy, he decided, though, now hehad started on his career as a killer, his end would probably betragic. Ike had no desire at any rate to hasten it.
Nor, as a matter of fact, had the posse. Their courage had cooledduring the long ride from Sulphur Falls as the whisky had evaporatedfrom their systems. They were by no means exceedingly anxious tocatch up with and encounter what was reputed to be the fastest gun insouthern Idaho.
"Whatever starts this hostile play?" asked Ike of the leader of theposse.
"This here Louisiana, I gather, gets in a mix-up with Snake," theofficer explained rather languidly. "I ain't there and I don't knowthe rights of it myself. As near as I can figure it Lizzie takes ashine to him which he don't reciprocate none. There is some wordsbetween them and Liz sets up a holler to Snake about this hombreinsultin' of her."
"Insultin' Lizzie Lewis?" said Ike, mildly surprised. "I'd sure admireto hear how he done it."
"Well, Liz is a female, nohow, and in any case Snake allows it's hisplay to horn in. Which he does with a derringer. He's just givin' it apreliminary wave or two and preparin' his war song according to Hoylewhen Louisiana smokes him up a plenty."
"I reckon Snake starts it, then," remarked Ike.
"You might say so. But rightfully speakin' he don't never actually_get_ started, Snake don't. He is just informin' the assembly what hiswar plans are when Louisiana cracks down on him and busts his shootin'arm. But this Louisiana has done frightened a lady a whole lot andthat's as good an excuse to get him as any."
"Well," said Ike, dryly, "the gent went by here maybe two hours goneheadin' south. He was goin' steady but he don't seem worried none asI noticed. If you want him right bad I reckon you can run him down. Asfor me I'm plumb neutral in this combat. I ain't lost no Louisiana."
Members of the posse looked at each other, glanced to the south wherethe gray expanse of sage presented an uninviting vista, fidgeted alittle and, one by one, swung down from their saddles. The officerobserved his deputies and finally followed them in dismounting.
"I reckon you're about right," he said. "This here buckaroo has got agood start and we ain't none too fresh. You got a bunk house herewhere we can hole up for the night?"
Ike nodded his assent, noting that the posse seemed relieved at theprospect of abandoning the chase. In the morning they headed back theway they had come.
French Pete had not appeared on the following day, although he wasdue, and Brandon decided that he would ride south and meet him.Leaving Marian in charge of the Mexican woman, he took a pack horseand rode away, making the Wallace Ranch at Willow Spring that evening.Although Wallace was a cattleman with an enmity toward Brandon'sfraternity, it did not extend to Ike himself, and he was made welcomeby the rancher and his wife. Wallace's freckle-faced son, a lad offive years, who was known among his vaqueros as "Sucatash," was theother member of the family. Ike, who was fond of children, entertainedthis youngster and made a rather strong impression on him.
On the following morning the sheepman saddled up and packed and gotaway at a fairly early hour. He headed toward the Esmeraldas, pointingat t
he break in the mountain wall where Shoestring Canyon flared out onthe plains, affording an entry to the range. This was the logical paththat the sheep-herders followed in crossing the range and, indeed, theonly feasible one for many miles in either direction, though there wasa fair wagon road that ran eastward and flanked that end of the range,leading to Maryville on the other side of the mountains, where thecounty seat was located.
But Ike rode until noon without seeing a sign of his missing herderand his sheep. French Pete should have entered the plains long beforethis, but, as yet, Ike was not alarmed. Many things might occur todelay the flock, and it was impossible to herd sheep on hard and fastschedules.
As he rode Ike looked at the trail for signs of passing horsemen, buthe noted no tracks that resembled those of Louisiana, which he hadobserved for some distance after he had left the ranch at Twin Forks.Just where they had left the trail and disappeared he had not noted,having but an idle interest in them after all. He had not seen themfor many miles before reaching Willow Spring, he remembered. Thisfact gave no clew to the direction the man had taken, of course,since, being pursued, he would naturally leave the trail at some pointand endeavor to cover his sign. He might have continued south as hehad started or he might have doubled back.
At about one o'clock in the afternoon, as he was approaching the gapthat opened into Shoestring, Ike saw, far ahead, a group on the trail.There seemed to be a wagon around which several men were standing. Thewagon resembled one of his own camp equipages, and he spurred up hishorse and hastened forward with some idea that the cow-punchers mightbe attacking it.
As he came nearer, however, one of the men swung into his saddle andheaded back toward him at a gallop. Ike drew the rifle from itsscabbard under his knee and went more cautiously. The man came on at ahard run, but made no hostile move, and when he was near enough Ikesaw that he was not armed. He shoved the rifle back beneath his knee,as the rider set his horse on its haunches beside him.
"Ike Brandon?" the man asked, excitedly, as he reined in. "Say, Ike,that Basco ewe-whacker o' yours is back there a ways and plumbperforated. Some one shore up and busted him a plenty with a soft-nosethirty. We're ridin' for Wallace, and we found him driftin' along inthe wagon a while back. I'm ridin' for a medicine man, but I reckonwe don't get one in time."
"Who done it?" asked Ike, grimly. The cow-puncher shook his head.
"None of us," he said, soberly. "We ain't any too lovin' withsheep-herders, but we ain't aimin' to butcher 'em with soft-nose slugsfrom behind a rock, neither. We picks him up a mile or two out ofShoestring and his hoss is just driftin' along no'th with him whilehe's slumped up on the seat. There ain't no sheep with him."
Ike nodded thoughtfully. "None o' you-all seen anythin' of Louisianadriftin' up this a way?" he asked.
"Gosh, no!" said the rider. "You pickin' Louisiana? He's a bad hombre,but this here don't look like his work."
"Pete's rifle with him?" asked Ike.
The man nodded. "It ain't been fouled. Looks like he was bushwackedand didn't have no chance to shoot."
Ike picked up his reins, and the man spurred his horse off on hiserrand. The sheepman rode on and soon met the wagon being escorted bytwo more cowboys while a third rode at the side of the horses, leadingthem. They stopped as Ike rode up, eying him uncomfortably. But hemerely nodded, with grim, set face, swung out of his saddle as theypulled up, and strode to the covered vehicle, drawing the canvas dooropen at the back.
On the side bunk of the wagon where the cowboys had stretched him,wrapped in one of his blankets, lay the wounded man, his face, underthe black beard, pale and writhen, the eyes staring glassily and thelips moving in the mutterings of what seemed to be delirium. Ikeclimbed into the wagon and bent over his employee, whose mutterings,as his glazing eyes fell on his master's face, became more rapid. Buthe talked in a language that neither Ike nor any of the men couldunderstand.
With a soothing word or two, Ike drew the blanket down from Pete'schest and looked at the great stain about the rude bandage which hadbeen applied by the men who had found him. One glance was enough toshow that Pete was in a bad way.
"Lie still!" said Ike, kindly. "Keep your shirt on, Pete, and we'llgit you outa this pretty soon."
But Pete was excited about something and insisted on trying to talk,though the froth of blood on his lips indicated the folly of it. Invain Ike soothed him and implored him to rest. His black eyes snappedand his right hand made feeble motions toward the floor of the wagonwhere, on a pile of supplies and camp equipment, lay a burlap sackcontaining something lumpy and rough.
"Zose sheep--and zose r-rock!" he whispered, shifting to English mixedwith accented French. "_Pour vous--et le b?b?! Le p'tit b?b?_ an'she's _m?re_--France--_or_----"
"Never mind the sheep," said Ike. "You rough-lock your jaw, Pete, an'we'll take care o' the sheep. Lie still, now!"
But Pete moaned and turned his head from side to side with his laststrength.
"_Mais--mais oui!_ ze sheep!" He again stuttered words meaningless tohis hearers who, of course, had no Basque at command. But here andthere were words of English and French, and even some Spanish, whichmost of them understood a little.
"Ze r-rock--_pierre--or!_ Eet eez to you _et le b?b?_ one half. Zeres' you send--you send heem--France--_pour ma femme--mi esposa_ an'ze leet-leetla one? _Mi padron_--you do heem?"
"What's he drivin' at?" muttered one of the cowboys. But Ike motionedthem to proceed and drive as fast as possible toward Willow Spring. Hebent toward the agitated herder again.
"I'll take care of it, Pete," he assured him. "Don't worry none."
But Pete had more on his mind. He groped feebly about and whined arequest which Ike finally understood to be for paper and a pencil. Helooked about but found nothing except a paper bag in which were somecandles. These he dumped out and, to pacify the man, handed the paperto him with his own pencil. It was evident that Pete would not restuntil he had had his way, and if he was crossed further hisexcitement was bound to kill him almost at once. In obedience toPete's wishes Ike lifted him slightly and held him up while he wrote afew scrawling, ragged characters on the sack. Almost illegible, theywere written in some language which Ike knew nothing about but, at thebottom of the bag Pete laboriously wrote a name and address which Ikeguessed was that of his wife, in the far-off Basse Pyrenean provinceof France.
"I'll see it gits to her," said Ike, reassuringly. But Pete was notsatisfied.
"Zose or," he repeated, chokingly. "I find heem--on ze Lunch R-rock,where I step. Eet ees half to you an' lettl' Marian--half to _mafemme_ an' ze _b?b?_. You weel find heem?"
"Ore?" repeated Ike, doubtingly. "You talking French or English?"
"_Or! Oui!_ Een Englees eet ees gol', you say! I find heem--back zereby ze Lunch R-rock. Zen some one shoot--I no see heem! I not know w'y.One 'bang!' I hear an' zat ees all. Ze wagon run away, ze sheep arelos', an' I lose ze head!"
"Ore!" repeated Ike, blankly. "You found gold, is that what you'retelling me? Where?"
"Back--back zere--by ze Lunch Rock where I eat! Much _or_--gold! Ifind heem an' half is yours!"
"That's all right," soothed Ike, thinking the man was crazy. "Youfound a lot of gold and half is mine and Marian's, while the rest goesto your folks? That's it, ain't it?"
Pete nodded as well as he could and even tried to grin hissatisfaction at being understood, waving a feeble hand again in thedirection of the burlap sack. But his strength was gone and he couldnot articulate any more. Pretty soon, as the wagon jolted onward, herelapsed into a coma, broken only by mutterings in his native andincomprehensible tongue. By his side Ike sat, vainly wondering who hadshot the man and why. But Pete, if he knew, was past telling. To thestory of gold, Ike paid hardly any heed, not even taking the troubleto look into the sack.
After a while the mutterings ceased, while his breathing grew morelabored and uneven. Then, while Willow Spring was still miles away, hesuddenly gasped, choked, and writhed beneath the blanket. The bloodwelled up to his lips, and h
e fell back and lay still.
Ike, with face twisted into lines of sorrow, drew the blanket over theman's head and sat beside his body with bowed face.
As they rode he pondered, endeavoring to search out a clew to theperpetrator of the murder, certainly a cold-blooded one, without anyprovocation. Pete's rifle, the cowboys had said, was clean andtherefore had not been fired. Furthermore, the wound was in the back.It had been made by a mushrooming bullet, and the wonder was that theman had lived at all after receiving it.
He questioned the cowboys. They knew nothing except that Pete had beenfound about two miles down on the plain from Shoestring and that hissheep were, presumably, somewhere up the canyon. When Ike sought toknow who was in the Esmeraldas, they told him that they had beenriding the range for a week and had encountered no one but Petehimself, who, about five days back, had driven into the canyon on hisway through the mountains. They had seen nothing of Louisiana, nor hadthey cut his trail at any time.
The wound showed that it had been recently made; within twelve hours,certainly. But the horses had traveled far in the time given them. Oneof Wallace's riders had ridden back up the canyon to search forpossible clews and would, perhaps, have something to say when hereturned.
They finally arrived at Wallace's ranch, and found there a doctor whohad come from a little hamlet situated to the east. His services wereno longer of avail, but Ike asked him to extract the bullet, which hedid, finding it to be an ordinary mushroomed ball, to all appearancesuch as was shot from half the rifles used in that country. There wasno clew there, and yet Ike kept it, with a grim idea in the back ofhis mind suggested by tales which Pete had often told of smugglingand vendettas among the Basques of the border between Spain andFrance.
It was when the sack was opened, however, that the real sensationappeared to dwarf the excitement over the murder of the sheep-herder.It was found to contain a number of samples of rock in which appearedspeckles and nuggets of free gold, or what certainly looked like it.On that point the doubt was settled by sending the samples to anassayer, and his report left nothing to be desired. He estimated thegold content of the ore to be worth from fifty to eighty thousanddollars a ton.
The coroner's inquest, at Maryville, was attended by swarms, who hopedto get from the testimony some clew to the whereabouts of the mine.But many did not wait for that. Before the assayer's report had beenreceived there were prospectors hurrying into the Esmeraldas andraking Shoestring Canyon and the environs. It was generally thoughtthat the Bonanza lay on the southern side of the range, however, andon that side there were many places to search. Pete might have takenalmost any route to the top of the divide, and there were very fewclews as to just where he had entered the mountains and how he hadreached the canyon.
Nor did the inquest develop anything further except the fact thatWallace's cow-puncher, who had ridden back up the canyon after findingPete, had found the spot where he had been shot, about five milesfrom the exit on the plain, but had failed to discover anythingindicating who had done it. Other searchers also reported failure.There had been burro tracks of some prospector seen at a point aboutsix miles from the canyon, but nothing to show that the owner of themhad been in that direction.
The verdict was characteristic. Louisiana's exploit had been noisedabout; it was known that he was heading for the Esmeraldas when lastseen, and the fact that he was a gunman, or reputed to be one,furnished the last bit of evidence to the jurors. No one else had doneit, and therefore Louisiana, who had quit the country, must have beenthe culprit. In any event, he was a bad man and, even if innocent ofthis, was probably guilty of things just as bad. Therefore a verdictwas returned against Louisiana, as the only available suspect.
Ike Brandon, after all, was the only person who cared much about thefate of a sheep-herder, who was also a foreigner. Every one else waschiefly interested in the gold mine. Ike offered a reward of fivehundred dollars, and the obliging sheriff of the county had handbillsprinted in which, with characteristic directness, Louisiana was namedas the suspect.
The mountains swarmed for a time with searchers who sought the goldPete had found. It remained hidden, however, and, as time passed,interest died out and the "Lunch Rock" was added to the long list of"lost mines," taking its place by the side of the Peg Leg and others.
Ike wrote to Pete's wife in France and sent her his last message. Withit went a sample of the ore and the bullet that had killed Pete. Ikereasoned that some of his relatives might wish to take up the hunt andwould be fortified by the smashed and distorted bullet.
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