CHAPTER IX
THE SUMMONS
Bowers had offered to take Lingle, the Deputy Sheriff, to the sheepcamp, which he was sure he could find easily from the directions MormonJoe had given him when he hired him, but, as it proved, the herder hadbeen over-sanguine.
They were hungry and tired from long hours in the saddle, and the breathfrozen on their upturned collars testified to the continued extremity ofthe weather when for the hundredth time they checked their horses andtried to get their bearings.
"I'm certain sure that Mormon Joe said to ride abreast that peak andabout a half mile to the left of it turn in to a 'draw' runnin'northeast by southwest, and ride until I come acrost the wagon."
"Don't see how a child could miss the way from that description,"replied Lingle, sarcastically.
"I think I see a woolie movin'." Bowers squinted across the whiteexpanse and the deputy endeavored to follow his gaze, but could seenothing but dancing specks due to a mild case of snow blindness."Yep--that's a woolie. I'm so used to 'em I kin tell what a sheep isthinkin' from here to them mountains."
Reining their horses at the top of a "draw" a quarter of an hour laterthey looked down upon the sheep wagon in a clearing in the sagebrush,together with the tepee and cook tent. Urging their horses down thesteep side they dismounted and went inside the latter, where soiledbreakfast dishes sat on the unplaned boards which served as a table. Inthe way of food there was only a can of molasses and a half dozenbiscuits frozen solid.
"Real cozy and homelike," Lingle commented, as he tried to pour himselfsome cold coffee and found it frozen. "I'll look around a bit and thengo up and tell her."
"I'd ruther it ud be you than me," Bowers observed grimly. "Can't abidehearin' a female take on and beller. I don't like the sect, noway. Youkin bet I don't aim to stay no longer than she kin git another herder,neither."
But Lingle was already out of hearing of the querulous voice of themisogynist, and peering into the tepee which was as Mormon Joe had leftit he noted that it contained an unmade bed, and extra pair of shoes,and a few articles of wearing apparel--that was all.
The door of the sheep wagon was unlocked, yet he hesitated a momentbefore opening it. Its examination was in line with his duty, however,so he opened it and looked about with a certain amount of curiosity. Thebare, cold stillness of it went to his marrow.
There was something pathetic to him in the pitiful attempts at homemaking shown in the few crude decorations. A feminine instinct fordomesticity evidenced itself in the imitation of the scalloped border ofa lace curtain made in soap on the glass of the small window in the backof the wagon, in a pin cushion of coarse muslin worked in blue worstedyarn, in the bouquet of dried goldenrod in a bottle, in the highlycolored picture of an ammunition company's advertisement pinned to thecanvas wall. A snag of a comb and a brush were thrust in a wooden stripnear the small cheap mirror.
Above the bunk two loops of wire were suspended from an oak bow of thewagon top, which obviously was where the occupant kept her rifle. Therewas a tiny stove by the door and a cupboard beside it, the shelves ofwhich were crowded with books whose titles made the sheriff's eyes open.A Latin grammar, a Roman history, the "Story of the French Revolution,"mythology, and many others that might as well have been Greek for allthe meaning their titles conveyed to the deputy.
"Whew!" he whistled softly. He had no idea that Mormon Joe's Kate hadany education. He had the impression that she was, in his ownphraseology, "a tough customer." Mormon Joe must have taught her, hereflected. There never was any doubt about his learning when it suitedhim to display it. The discovery increased the sheriff's curiosity tosee the girl.
Continuing his investigations, he opened one of the drawers that pulledout from beneath the bunk, and closed it hastily--but not too soon tosee that the undergarments it contained were made of flour sacks whichhad been ripped, laundered and fashioned clumsily by a hand unused tosewing. In the drawer on the other side there were clippings givingrecipes for improving the complexion, hair treatments, care of the teethand nails, and other aids to beauty.
Lingle smiled as he glanced at them. Evidently she had traits that weredistinctly feminine. In addition, there were writing materials and apacket of letters addressed in a masculine hand that looked unformed andyouthful. They were tied with a pink ribbon, and had the appearance ofhaving been read frequently. Lingle fingered the packet uncertainly andthen threw it back in the drawer impatiently.
"Thunder!" he muttered, "I ain't paid to snoop through a woman'sletters."
On the southern slope of a foothill where the snow lay less deep than onthe northern and eastern exposures, Kate stood on the sunny side of abrown boulder leaning her shoulder against it as she watched the sheepbelow her nibbling at the spears of dried bunch grass which thrustthemselves above the surface. Her rifle stood against a rock where shecould reach it easily, and her horse fed near her, pawing through thesnow, like an experienced "rustler."
She was dressed to meet the weather in boys' boots and arctics, woolenmittens, riding skirt of heavy blue denim, the fleece-lined canvas coatof the sheepherder, and a coonskin cap with ear-laps. Her face wore anexpression that was both sad and troubled as she mechanically watchedsuch sheep as showed a disposition to stray, and kept an eye out forcoyotes.
Save in her sleep, her quarrel with Mormon Joe had not been out of hermind since, three days before, she had stood shivering at the door andwatched him vanish through the sagebrush. Now, in addition, she wasworried over his absence. She had kept supper waiting until long afterher usual bedtime and to-day she had worn a trail to the top of thehill, watching, and still had seen no sign of him. Poignant regret forwhat she had said and shame for her ingratitude overwhelmed her. Alongwith the feelings was a fear lest he refuse to forgive her and insistupon her leaving. Then, too, there was her promise to Mrs. Toomey.
Kate was confronted with her first problem. She had threshed it out,turned it over and over, finally arriving at the conclusion that shemust keep her promise at any cost to herself. A promise was a promise,and she had given her hand on it. Her regard for her word was a dominanttrait in Kate. Mormon Joe had fostered this ideal by words and his ownexample. So she had slowly made up her mind that having given her wordshe would not recall it, though it would be a high price to pay for aprinciple if it cost her his friendship and protection.
Kate intended to plead with him; to beg his forgiveness upon her knees,if necessary; to put her arms about his neck and make him understand howmuch she loved him. She had taken everything for granted heretofore, asher right because he had given it so readily, but all would be differentif only he would forget what she had said and give her anotheropportunity, and if he would let her keep her promise to Mrs. Toomey shewould herd sheep until she had saved the amount in a herder's wages.
This was her plan after sleepless hours and three days of thinking.Until their quarrel Kate never would have doubted that she could haveher way without much difficulty, but then she had not met the coolpolite stranger with the adamant beneath his polished exterior. The girlwondered if the whimsical unselfish friend and comrade ever would comeback to her. The doubt of it set her chin quivering.
Kate trudged through the snow to turn back the sheep that Bowers hadseen, and at the top of the hill stopped and gave a cry of relief andgladness. A thin blue thread of smoke was rising from the "draw" and shewondered how anyone could have come without her seeing them. She lookedat the sun and calculated that she could shortly be starting the sheepback to the bed-ground, and her spirits rose immeasurably as she sentthe strays scampering back to the others and returned to the smallwarmth which the sunny side of the rock afforded.
Kate was leaning against the boulder conjecturing as to whether it wasMormon Joe or the herder who had arrived, when Lingle rode around theside of the hill and came upon her suddenly.
Immediately the deputy's face set in lines of sternness. He had beenrehearsing his part in the dialogue which was to follow and believed hehad it sufficientl
y well in hand to play the act admirably. This murderwas the first big case he had had since being appointed deputy. It was agreat opportunity and he meant to make the most of it, for if handledcreditably it might prove a stepping-stone to the sheriff's office. Theelement of surprise he knew was most effective and he was counting uponit to obtain valuable admissions. In the scene, as he visualized itwhile riding, he was to advance gimlet-eyed, throw open his coat andconfront her with the badge which made the guilty tremble.
"Guess you know what I'm here for, Madam," he was to say significantlyand harshly.
But like most prearranged things in life it all went differently. Whenhe was close enough to see well his jaw dropped automatically. There wasno more resemblance between the girl who straightened up and smiled uponhim and the hard-featured woman he had pictured as "Mormon Joe's Kate,"than there was between himself and the horse he was riding.
Younger by years than he had anticipated, she radiated wholesomeness,simple friendliness and candor. A strand of soft hair had slipped frombeneath her cap and lay upon a cheek that was a vivid pink in the coldatmosphere; she had the clear skin of perfect health and her lips werered with the blood that was close to the surface, while the gray eyeswith which she regarded him were frank and steady as she gazed at himinquiringly.
Lingle tugged at his hat brim instinctively.
"I thought you were a coyote when the sheep began running," she said,good-naturedly. "They've been bothering a lot this cold weather."
Lingle mumbled that he "presumed so."
"I suppose you are the new herder?"
"I came out with him," the deputy replied evasively.
"Didn't Uncle Joe come?" Kate's face fell in disappointment.
Lingle shifted his weight and looked elsewhere.
"He's in town yet," he answered.
Lingle knew instinctively that she thought Mormon Joe was drinkingheavily.
Then, fixing her troubled eyes upon him she asked hesitatingly:
"Did he--say when I could expect him?"
The merciless hound of the law, who had dismounted, shuffled his feetuneasily and looked down to see if his badge was showing.
"Er--he didn't mention it." In the panic which seized him he could notframe the words in which to tell her, and he felt an illogical wrath atBowers--the coward--for not coming with him. For a moment he consideredresigning, then walked over to where her horse was feeding to collecthimself while her wondering gaze followed him.
Lingle ran his hand along the horse's neck, the hair of which was stiffwith dried sweat, lifted the saddle blanket and looked at its legs,where streaks of lather had hardened. He regarded her keenly as heturned to her.
"You been smokin' up your horse, I notice."
"I ran a coyote for two miles this morning--emptied my magazine at himand then didn't get him." The truth shining in her clear eyes wasunmistakable.
Lingle broke off a handful of sagebrush and used it as a makeshiftcurrycomb, while Kate, a little surprised at the action, picked up thebridle reins when he had finished the gratuitous grooming and startedthe sheep moving.
"I'll feed back to camp slowly. Don't wait for me--you and the herdereat supper."
"Anything I can do, ma'am?"
"Oh, no, thank you."
Bowers met the deputy at the door of the cook tent, his eyes gleamingwith curiosity.
"Did she beller?"
Lingle sat down morosely and removed his spurs before answering.
"I didn't tell her."
"What!" Bowers fairly jumped at him. "What's the matter?"
"She might as well eat her supper, mightn't she?" defiantly.
"Do you know what I think?" Bowers pointed a spoon at him accusingly. "Ithink your nerve failed you. All I got to say is--you're a devil of anofficer."
"Maybe you'd like to tell her," sneeringly.
"I shore ain't afraid to!" bristling. "I don't like to listen to afemale's snifflin', and I say so, but when it comes to bein' _afraid_ ofone of 'em--" Bowers banged the pan of biscuits on the table toemphasize the small esteem in which he held women. "What fer a looker isshe?" he demanded.
"You'd better eat your supper before she gets here."
"Bad as that?"
"Worse," grimly. "I ain't got educated words enough to describe her."
They had eaten by the light of the lantern, when they heard Kate coming.
She lifted the flap of the tent and smiled her friendly smile uponthem.
"Goodness, but I'm glad I don't have to cook supper! I haven't hadanything warm since morning."
Bowers stood with the broom in his hand, staring, while Kate removed hercap and jacket. Then he cast an evil look upon the deputy, a look whichsaid, "You liar!"
As she made to get the food from the stove he interposed hastily:
"You set down, Ma'am."
Lingle gave him a look which was equally significant, a jeering lookwhich said ironically, "Woman hater!"
Bowers colored with pleasure when she lauded his "cowpuncher potatoes"and exclaimed over the biscuits.
When Kate had finished she looked from one to the other and beamed uponthem impartially.
"It's nice to see people. I haven't seen any one for six weeks exceptUncle Joe," wistfully. "I wish he had come back with you--it's solonesome."
There was an immediate silence and then Bowers cleared his throatnoisily.
"Night 'fore last was tol'able chilly in your wagon, I reckon?"
Her face sobered.
"It was--terrible! I couldn't sleep for the cold, and thinking about andpitying the stock on the range, and anybody that had to be out in it. Iwas glad Uncle Joe was safe in Prouty--there was no need for us both tobe out here suffering."
Again there was silence, and once more Bowers came to the rescue with afeeble witticism, at which he himself laughed hollowly:
"I hearn that a feller eatin' supper with a steel knife got his tonguefroze to it, and they had a time thawin' him over the tea kettle."
Kate rose to clear away and wash the dishes, but Bowers motioned her toremain seated.
"You rest yourself, Ma'am. I was a pearl diver in a restauraw fer threemonths onct so I am, you might say, a professional."
"Uncle Joe and I take turns," Kate laughed, "for neither of us likesit."
"That's the best way," Bowers agreed, breaking the constrained silencewhich fell each time Mormon Joe's name was mentioned. "More pardners hasfell out over dish-washin' and the throwin' of diamond hitches than anyother causes."
When, to Kate's horror, Bowers had wiped off the top of the stove withthe dishcloth and removed some lingering moisture from the inside of afrying pan with his elbow, she said, rising:
"I'm up at four, so I go to bed early. You can sleep in Uncle Joe'stepee," to Lingle, "and you needn't get up for breakfast when we do. Isuppose," to Bowers, "you'll want to start in to-morrow, so I'll go withyou and show you the range we're feeding over." With a friendly goodnight she turned towards the entrance.
Lingle rose with a look of desperation on his countenance.
"Just a minute." There was that in his voice which made her turn quicklyand look from one to the other in wonder.
Lingle had a feeling that his vocal cords had turned to wire, they movedso stiffly, when he heard himself saying:
"Guess I'll have to ask you to take a ride with me to-morrow."
"Me?" Her eyes widened. "What for?"
The yellow flame flickered in the smudged chimney of the lantern on thetable, a bit of burning wood fell out from the front of the stove andlay smoking on the dirt floor in front of it. Bowers stood rigid by thebasin where he had been washing his hands, with the water dripping fromhis fingers.
In a frenzy to have it over the deputy blurted out harshly:
"Mormon Joe's been murdered!"
The girl gave a cry--sharp, anguished, as one might scream out with acrushed finger.
Bowers advanced a step and demanded fiercely of Lingle:
"Don't you know nothin
'--not no damned nothin'?"
Kate's face was marble.
"You mean--he's dead--he won't come back here--ever?"
"You've said it," the deputy replied, huskily.
Kate walked back unsteadily to the seat she had just vacated and herhead sank upon her folded arms on the table. She did not cry like awoman, but with deep tearless sobs that lifted her shoulders.
The two men stood with their hands hanging awkwardly, looking at eachother. Then Bowers made a grimace and jerked his head towards the tententrance. The deputy obeyed the signal and went out on tip-toe with thesheepherder following.
"She's got guts," said Bowers briefly.
"She'll need 'em," was the laconic answer.
The Fighting Shepherdess Page 9
