Shoe-Bar Stratton

by Joseph Bushnell Ames

  CHAPTER V

  TEX LYNCH

  Supper, which was served in the ranch-house kitchen by Pedro, the Mexicancook, was not enlivened by much conversation. The food was plentiful andof good quality, and the punchers addressed themselves to its consumptionwith the single-hearted purpose of hungry men whose appetites have beensharpened by a long day in the saddle. Now and then someone mumbled arequest to "pass the sugar," or desired more steak or coffee from theshuffling Pedro; but for the most part the serious business of eatingoccupied them exclusively.

  There was no sign of Miss Thorne. Buck decided that she took her mealselsewhere and approved the isolation. It must be pretty hard, he thought,for a girl like that to be living her young life in this out-of-the-waycorner of the world with no women companions to keep her company. Then heremembered that for all he knew she might not be the only one of her sexon the Shoe-Bar, and when the meal was over and the men were stragglingback toward the bunk-house, he put the question to Bud Jessup, who walkedbeside him.

  "Huh?" grunted the youngster, with a sharp, inquiring glance at his face."What d'yuh want to know that for?"

  Stratton shrugged his shoulders. "No particular reason," he smiled. "Ionly thought she'd find it mighty dull alone on the ranch with a bunch ofpunchers."

  Bud continued to eye him intently. "Well, she ain't alone," he saidbriefly. "Mrs. Archer lives with her; an' uh course there's Pedro'sMaria."

  "Who's Mrs. Archer?"

  "Her aunt. Kinda nice old lady, but she ain't got much pep. Maria's jestthe other way. When she's got a grouch on she's some cat, believe me!"

  For some reason the subject appeared to be distasteful to Jessup, and Buckasked no more questions. Instead of following the others into thebunk-house they strolled on along the bank of the creek, which was linedwith fair-sized cottonwoods. The sun had set, but the glow of it stilllingered in the west. Glinting like a flame on the windows of theranch-house, it even dappled the placid waters of the little stream withred-gold splotches, which mingled effectively with the mirroredreflections of the overhanging trees. From the kitchen chimney a wisp ofsmoke rose straight into the still clear air. In a corner of the corralhalf a dozen horses were bunched, lazily switching their tails atintervals. Through one of the pastures across the stream some cattledrifted, idly feeding their way to water.

  It was a peaceful picture, yet Stratton could not rid his mind of thecurious feeling that the peacefulness was all on the surface. He had notmissed that swift exchange of glances that heralded his first appearancein the bunk-house; and though Slim McCabe particularly had been almosteffusively affable, Buck was none the less convinced that his presencehere was unwelcome. That business of the branding-iron, too, was puzzling.Was it merely a bit of rough but harmless horse-play or had it a deepermeaning? Bud did not look like a fellow to lose his nerve easily, and theiron had certainly been hot enough to brand even the tough hide of athree-year-old steer.

  Buck glanced sidewise at his companion to find the blue eyes studying hisface with a keen, questioning scrutiny. They were hastily withdrawn, and afaint color crept up, darkening the youngster's tan.

  "Trying to size me up," thought Stratton interestedly. "He's got somethingon his chest, too."

  But he gave no sign of what was in his mind. A moment or two later hepaused and, leaning indolently against a tree, let his gaze sweep idlyover the cattle in the near-by pasture.

  "Looks to me like a pretty good bunch of steers," he commented, and thenadded carelessly: "What sort of a guy is this Tex Lynch, anyhow?"

  Bud hesitated briefly, sending a swift, momentary glance toward thebunk-house.

  "Oh, he's all right, I guess," he answered slowly.

  Stratton grinned. "If you don't look out you'll be overpraising him, kid,"he chuckled.

  Jessup shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't say I liked him," he defended."He knows his business all right."

  "Oh, sure. Otherwise, I s'pose he wouldn't hold down his job. But what Iwant to know is the kind of boss he is. Does he treat the fellows white,or is he a sneak?"

  Bud's face darkened. "He treats some of 'em white enough," he snapped.

  "That so? Favorites, eh? I've met up with that kind before. Is he hard toget on the right side of?"

  "Dunno," growled the youngster. "I never tried."

  Buck chuckled again. "Well, kid, so long as you don't seem to think it'sworth while, I dunno why I should take the trouble. Who else is on theouts with him?"

  Jessup flashed a startled glance at him. "How in blazes do you know--"

  "Oh, gosh! That's easy. That open-faced countenance of yours would giveyou away even if your tongue didn't. I'd say you weren't a bit in lovewith Lynch, or any of the rest of the bunch, either. Likely you got a goodreason, an' of course it ain't any of my business; but if that stunt withthe red-hot branding-iron is a sample of their playfulness, I should thinkyou'd drift. There must be plenty of peaceful jobs open in theneighborhood."

  "But that's just what they want me to do," snapped Jessup hotly. "They'redoin' their best to drive me----"

  His jaws clamped shut and a sudden suspicion flashed into his eyes, whichcaused Buck promptly to relinquish all hope of getting any furtherinformation from the boy. Evidently he had said the wrong thing and gotthe fellow's back up, though he could not imagine how. And so, when Jessupcurtly proposed that they return to the bunk-house, Stratton readilyacquiesced.

  They found the five punchers gathered around the table playing draw-pokerunder the light of a flaring oil lamp. McCabe extended a breezy invitationto Buck to join them, which he accepted promptly, drawing up an empty boxto a space made for him between Slim and Butch Siegrist. With scarcely aglance at the group, Jessup selected a tattered magazine from a pile inone corner and sprawled out on his bunk, first lighting a small hand lampand placing it on the floor beside him.

  Stratton liked poker and played a good game, but he soon discovered thathe was up against a pretty stiff proposition. The limit was the sky, andKreeger and McCabe especially seemed to have a run of phenomenal luck.Buck didn't believe there was anything crooked about their playing; atleast he could detect no sign of it, though he kept a sharp lookout as healways did when sitting in with strangers. But he was rather uncomfortablyin a hole and was just beginning to realize rather whimsically that for awhile at least he had only a cow-man's pay to depend on forspending-money, when the door was suddenly jerked open and a tall,broad-shouldered figure loomed in the opening.

  "Well, it's all right, fellows," said the new-comer, blinking a little atthe light. "I saw--"

  He caught himself up abruptly and glowered at Stratton.

  "Who the devil are yuh?" he inquired harshly, stepping into the room.

  Buck met his hard glance with smiling amiability.

  "Name of Buck Green," he drawled. "Passed you on the trail this afternoon,didn't I? You must be Tex Lynch."

  With a scarcely perceptible movement he shifted his cards to his lefthand. His right, the palm half open, rested on the edge of the table justabove his thigh. He didn't really believe the foreman would startanything, but one never knew, especially with a man of such evidentlyuncertain temper.

  "Huh!" grunted Lynch. "Why didn't yuh stop me then? Yuh might have savedyourself a ride." He continued to stare at Stratton, a veiled speculationin his smoldering eyes. "Well?" he went on impatiently. "What can I do foryuh now I'm here?"

  Buck raised his eyebrows. "Do for me? Why, I don't know as there'sanything right this minute. I s'pose you'll be wanting to put me to workin the morning."

  "You've sure got nerve a-plenty," rasped the foreman. "I ain't hirin'anybody that comes along just because he wears chaps."

  "That so?" drawled Buck. "Funny the lady didn't mention that when shesigned me up this afternoon."

  Lynch's face darkened. "Yuh mean to say--"

  He paused abruptly, his angry eyes sweeping past Stratton, to rest for aninstant on Flint Kreeger, who sat just beyond McCabe. What he saw thereBuck did not know, but it must
have been something of warning orinformation. When his eyes returned to Stratton their expression wasveiled under drooping lids; his lithe figure relaxed into an easierposition against the door-casing, both hands resting lightly on slimhips.

  "Miss Thorne hired yuh, then?" he remarked in a non-committal voice whichyet held no touch of friendliness. "Well, that's different. Where've yuhworked?"

  "The last outfit was the Three-Circles in Texas." Buck named at random anoutfit in the southern part of the state with which he was slightlyacquainted. "Been in the army over two years, and just got my discharge."

  "Texas?" repeated Lynch curtly. "How the devil do yuh happen to be lookin'for work here?"

  "I'd heard Joe Bloss was foreman," explained Buck calmly. "We used to worktogether on the Three-Circles, and I knew he'd give me a job. When I foundout in Paloma he'd gone, I took a chance an' rode out anyhow."

  He bore the foreman's searching scrutiny very well, without a change ofcolor or the quiver of an eyelash. Nevertheless he was not a littlerelieved when Lynch, with a brief comment about trying him out in themorning, moved around the table and sat down on a bunk to pull off hischaps. That sudden and complete bottling up of emotion had shown Buck howmuch more dangerous the man was than he had supposed, and he was pleasedenough to come out of their first encounter so well.

  With a barely perceptible sense of relaxing tension, the poker game wasresumed, for which Buck was devoutly thankful. Throughout the interruptionhe had not forgotten his hand, which was by far the best he had held thatevening. He played it and the succeeding ones so well that when the gameended he had managed to break even.

  Ten minutes later the lights were out, and the silence of the bunk-housewas broken only by the regular breathing of eight men, or the occasionalcreak of some one shifting his position in the narrow bunk. Having noblankets--a deficiency he meant to remedy if he could get off long enoughto-morrow to ride to Paloma Springs--Buck removed merely chaps and bootsand stretched his long form on the corn-husk tick with a little sigh ofweariness. Until this moment he had not realized how tired he was. But hehad slept poorly on the train, and this, coupled with the heady air andthe somewhat stirring events of the last few hours, dragged his eyelidsshut almost as soon as his head struck the improvised pillow.

  It seemed as if scarcely a moment had passed before he opened them again.But he knew that it must be several hours later, for it had beenpitch-dark when he went to sleep, and now a square of moonlight lay acrossthe floor under the southern window, bringing into faint relief theoutlines of the long room.

  Just what had roused him he did not know; some noise, no doubt, eitherinside the bunk-house or without. Nerves attuned to battle-frontconditions are likely to become sharp as razor-edges, and Buck, startingfrom deep slumber to complete wakefulness, was almost instantly aware ofa sense of strangeness in his surroundings.

  In a moment he knew what it was. Even though they may not snore, thebreathing of seven sleeping men is unmistakable. Buck did not have tostrain his ears to realize that not a sound came from any of the otherbunks, and swiftly the utter, unnatural stillness became oppressive.

  Quietly he swung his stockinged feet to the floor and was reaching for theholster and cartridge-belt he had laid beside him, when, from theadjoining bunk, Bud Jessup's voice came in a cautious whisper.

  "They're gone. The whole bunch of 'em just rode off."