CHAPTER III
MISTRESS MARY--QUITE CONTRARY
But Stratton's mind was too full of the amazing information he had gleanedfrom the old storekeeper to leave much room for minor reflections. He hadbeen stunned at first--so completely floored that anyone save thegarrulous old man intent on making the most of his shop-worn story couldnot have helped seeing that something was seriously wrong. Then angercame--a hot, raging fury against the authors of this barefaced, impudentattempt at swindle. From motives of policy he had done his best to concealthat, too, from Pop Daggett; but now that he was alone it surged up againwithin him, dyeing his face a deep crimson and etching hard lines on hisforehead and about his straight-lipped mouth.
"Thought they'd put it over easy," he growled behind set teeth, oneclenched, gloved hand thumping the saddle-horn. "Saw the notice in thepapers, of course, and decided it would be a cinch to rob a dead man.Well, there's a surprise coming to somebody that'll make mine look likethirty cents."
His lips relaxed in a grim smile, which presently merged into anexpression of puzzled wonder. Thorne, of all people, to try and put acrossa crooked deal like this! Stratton had never known the man reallyintimately, but during the several years of their business relationshipthe Chicago lawyer struck him as being scrupulously honest and upright.Indeed, when Buck came to enlist, it seemed a perfectly safe and naturalthing to leave his deeds and other important papers in Andrew Thorne'skeeping.
"Shows how you can be fooled in a man," murmured Stratton, as he followedthe trail down into a shallow draw. "I sure played into his hands nice. Hehad the deeds and everything, and it would be simple enough to fake atransfer when he thought I was dead and knew I hadn't any kin to maketrouble. I wonder what the daughter's like. A holy terror, I'll bet, andtarred with the same brush. Well, she'll get hers in about two hours'time, and get it good."
The grim smile flickered again on his lips for a moment, to vanish as hesaw the head and shoulders of a horseman appear over the further edge ofthe draw. An instant later the bulk of a big sorrel flashed into view andthudded toward him.
On the open range men usually stop for a word or two when they meet, butthis one did not. As he approached Stratton at a rapid speed there was abrief, involuntary movement as if he meant to pull up and then changed hismind. The next moment he had whirled past with a careless, negligentgesture of one hand and a keen, penetrating, questioning stare from a pairof hard black eyes.
Buck glanced over one shoulder at the flying dust-cloud and pursed hislips.
"Wonder if that's the mysterious Tex?" he pondered, urging his horseforward. "Black eyes and red cheeks, all right. He's a good lookingscoundrel--too darn good looking for a man. All the same, I can't say itwas a case of love at first sight."
Unconsciously his right hand dropped to the holster at his side, thefingers caressing for an instant the butt of his Colt. He had set out onhis errand of exposure with an angry impulsiveness which gave no thoughtto details or possibilities. But in some subtle fashion that searchingglance from the passing stranger brought him up with a little mental jerk.For the first time he remembered that he was playing a lone hand, that thevery nature of his business was likely to rouse the most desperate andunscrupulous opposition. Considering the value of the stake and thepenalties involved, the present occupant of the Shoe-Bar was likely to useevery means in her power to prevent his accusations from becoming public.If the fellow who had just passed really was Tex Lynch, Buck had a strongintuition that he was the sort of a man who could be counted on to take aprominent hand in the game, and also that he wouldn't be any tooparticular as to how he played it.
A mile beyond the draw the trail forked, and Stratton took the left-handbranch. The grazing hereabouts was poor, and at this time of yearparticularly the Shoe-Bar cattle were more likely to be confined to thericher fenced-in pastures belonging to the ranch. The scenery thuspresenting no points of interest, Buck's thoughts turned to the interviewahead of him. Marshaling his facts, he planned briefly how he would makeuse of them, and finally began to draw scrappy mental pen-pictures of theusurping Mary Thorne.
She would be tall, probably, and raw-boned--that domineering, "bossy" typehe always associated with women who assumed men's jobs--harsh-voiced andmore than a trifle hard. He dwelt particularly on her hardness, for surelyno other sort of woman could possibly have helped to engineer the crookeddeal which Andrew Thorne and his daughter had so successfully put across.She would be painfully plain, of course, and doubtless also would wearknickerbockers like a certain woman farmer he had once met in Texas, smokecigarettes constantly, and pack a gun. Having endowed the lady with a fewother disagreeable qualities which pleased him mightily, Buck awoke to therealization that he was approaching the eastern extremity of the Shoe-Barranch. His eyes brightened, and, dismissing all thoughts of Miss Thorne,he began to cast interested, appraising glances to right and left as herode.
There is little that escapes the eye of the professional ranchman,especially when he has been absent from his property for more than twoyears. Buck Stratton observed quite as much as the average man, and itpresently became evident that what he saw did not please him. His keeneyes sought out sagging fence-wire where staples, drawn or fallen out, hadnever been replaced. Here and there a rotting post leaned at a precariousangle, or gates between pastures needed repairing badly. What cattle werein sight seemed in good condition but their number was much less than heexpected. Only once did he observe any signs of human activity, and thenthe loafing attitude of the two punchers riding leisurely through a fieldhalf a mile away was but too apparent. By the time he came within sight ofthe ranch-house, nestling pleasantly in a little grove of cottonwoodsbeyond the creek, his face was set in a hard scowl.
"Looks to me like they were letting the whole outfit go to pot," hemuttered angrily. "It sure is time I whirled in and took a hand."
Urging the roan forward, he rode splashing through the shallow stream, upthe gentle slope, and swung out of his saddle close to the kitchen door.This stood open, and striding up to it Buck met the languid gaze of aswarthy middle-aged Mexican who lounged just within the portal.
"Miss Thorne around?" he asked curtly.
"Sure," shrugged the Mexican. "I t'ink she in fron' house. Yoh try aroun'other door, mebbe fin' her."
In the old days the kitchen entrance had been the one most used, but Buckremembered that there was another at the opposite end of the buildingwhich opened directly into the ranch living-room. He sought it now,observing with preoccupied surprise that a small covered veranda had beenbuilt out from the house, found it ajar like the other, and knocked.
"Come in," said a voice.
Stratton crossed the threshold, instinctively removing his hat. As heremembered it, the room, though of good size and comfortable enough, hadbeen a clutter of purely masculine belongings. He was quite unprepared forthe colorful gleam of Navajo rugs, the curtained windows, the general airof swept and garnished tidiness which seemed almost luxury. Briefly hissweeping glance took in a bowl of flowers on the center-table and thencame to rest abruptly on a slight, girlish figure just risen from a chairbeside it.
"I'd like to see Miss Thorne, please," he said, stifling his momentarysurprise.
The girl took a step forward, her slim, tanned, ringless fingers claspedloosely about a book she held.
"I'm Miss Thorne," she answered in a low, pleasant voice.
Buck gasped and his eyes widened. Then he recovered himself swiftly.
"I mean Miss Mary Thorne," he explained; "the--er--owner of this outfit."
The girl smiled faintly, a touch of veiled wistfulness in her eyes.
"I'm Mary Thorne," she said quietly. "There's only one, you know."
Shoe-Bar Stratton Page 3
