Shoe-Bar Stratton

by Joseph Bushnell Ames

  CHAPTER VII

  RUSTLERS

  Swiftly the echoes of the shots died away, leaving the still serenity ofthe night again unruffled. For a moment or two Stratton waitedexpectantly; then his shoulders squared decisively.

  "I reckon it's up to us to find out what's going on down there," he said,turning toward his horse.

  Jessup nodded curt agreement. "Better take the sorrel along, hadn't we?"he asked.

  "Sure." Buck swung himself lightly into the saddle, shortening the leadrope and fastening it to the horn. "I was thinking of that."

  Five minutes later they pulled up in front of a small adobe shack nestlingagainst a background of cottonwoods that told of the near presence of thecreek. The door stood open, framing a black rectangle which proclaimed theemptiness of the hut, and with scarcely a pause the two rode slowly on,searching the moonlit vistas with keen alertness.

  On their right the country had grown noticeably rougher. Here and therelow spurs from the near-by western hills thrust out into the flat prairie,and deep shadows which marked the opening of draw or gully loomed upfrequently. It was from one of these, about half a mile south of the hut,that a voice issued suddenly, halting the two riders abruptly by thecurtness of its snarling menace.

  "Hands up!"

  Buck obeyed promptly, having learned from experience the futility oftrying to draw on a person whose very outlines are invisible. Jessup'shands went up, too, and then dropped quickly to his sides again.

  "Why, it's Slim!" he cried, and spurred swiftly toward the mouth of thegully. "What the deuce is the matter?" he asked anxiously. "What'shappened to Rick?"

  There was a momentary pause, and then McCabe stepped out of the shadows,six-gun in one hand.

  "What the devil are yuh doin' here?" he demanded with a harshness whichstruck Buck in curious contrast to his usual air of good humor. "Who'sthat with yuh?"

  "Only Green. We--we got worried, an' saddled up an'--followed yuh. When weheard the shots--What _did_ happen to Rick, Slim? We caught his horse outthere, the saddle all--"

  "Since yuh gotta know," snapped the puncher, "he got a hole drilledthrough one leg. He's right here behind me."

  As Bud flung himself out of the saddle and hurried over to the man lyingjust inside the gully, McCabe stepped swiftly to the side of Stratton'shorse. There was a mingling of doubt and sharp suspicion in the upturnedface.

  "Yuh sure are up an' doin' for a new hand," he commented swiftly. "Was ityuh put it into his head to come out here?"

  "I reckon maybe it was," returned Buck easily. "When we woke up an' foundyou all gone, the kid got fretting considerable about his friend here, andI didn't see why we shouldn't ride out and join you. According to my mind,when you're out after rustlers, the more the merrier."

  "Huh! He told yuh we was after rustlers?"

  "Sure. Why not? It ain't any secret, is it? Leastwise, I didn't gatherthat from Bud."

  McCabe's face relaxed. "Wal, I dunno as 't is," he shrugged. "Tex likes torun things his own way, though. Still, I dunno as there's any harm done.Truth is, we didn't get started soon enough. We was half a mile off whenwe heard the shot, an' rid up to find Rick drilled through the leg an' thethieves beatin' it for the mountains. The rest of the bunch lit out after'em while I stayed with Rick. I dunno as they caught any of 'em, but Ireckon they didn't have time to run off no cattle."

  Stratton slid out of the saddle and threw the reins over the roan's head.He had not failed to notice the slight discrepancy in McCabe's statementas to the length of time it took the punchers to ride from the bunk-houseto this spot, but he made no comment.

  "Bemis hurt bad?" he asked.

  "Not serious. It's a clean wound in his thigh. I got it tied up with hisneckerchief."

  Buck nodded and walked over to where Bud was squatting beside the woundedcow-puncher. By this time his eyes were accustomed to the half-darkness,and he could easily distinguish the long length of the fellow, and evennoted that the dark eyes were regarding him questioningly out of a white,rather strained face.

  "Want me to look you over?" he asked, bending down. "I've had considerableexperience with this sort of thing, and maybe I can make you easier."

  "Go to it," nodded the young chap briefly. "It ain't bleedin' like it was,but it could be a whole lot more comfortable."

  With the aid of Jessup and McCabe, Bemis was moved out into the moonlight,where Stratton made a careful examination of his wound. He found that thebullet had plowed through the fleshy part of the thigh, just missing thebone, and, barring chances of infection, it was not likely to bedangerous. He was readjusting Slim's crude bandaging when he heard thebeat of hoofs and out of the corner of one eye saw McCabe walk swiftly outto meet the returning punchers.

  These halted about fifty feet away, and there was a brief exchange ofwords of which Buck could distinguish nothing. Presently two of the mendashed off in the direction of the ranch-house, while Lynch rode slowlyforward and dismounted.

  "How yuh feelin'?" he asked Bemis, adding with a touch of sarcasm in hisvoice, "I hear yuh got a reg'lar professional sawbones to look afteryuh."

  "He acts like he knew what he was about," returned Bemis briefly. "How yuhgoin' to get me home?"

  "I've sent Butch an' Flint after the wagon," explained Lynch. "They'llhustle all they can."

  "Did you catch sight of the rustlers?" asked Stratton suddenly.

  The foreman flashed him a sudden not overfriendly glance.

  "No," he returned curtly, and turning on his heel led his horse over towhere the others had gathered in the shadow of a rocky butte.

  It was nearly an hour before the lumbering farm-wagon appeared. During theinterval Buck sat beside the wounded man, smoking and exchangingoccasional brief comments with Bud, who stayed close by. One or two of theothers strolled up to ask about Bemis, but for the most part they remainedin their little group, the intermittent glow of their cigarettesflickering in the darkness and the constant low murmur of theirconversation wafted indistinguishably across the intervening space.

  Their behavior piqued Buck's curiosity tremendously. What were theytalking about so continually? Where had the outlaws gone, and why hadn'tthey been pursued further? Had the whole pursuit been merely in the natureof a bluff? And if so, whom had it been intended to deceive? These and ascore of other questions passed through his mind as he sat there waiting,but when the dull rumble of the wagon started them all into activity, hehad not succeeded in finding any really plausible answers.

  The return trip was necessarily slow, and dawn was just breaking as theyforded the creek and drove up to the bunk-house. They had barely come to astandstill when, to Buck's surprise, the slim figure of Mary Thorne,bare-headed and clad in riding-clothes, appeared suddenly around thecorner of the ranch-house and came swiftly toward them.

  "Pedro told me," she said briefly, pausing beside the wagon. "How is he?"

  "Doin' fine," responded Lynch promptly. "It's a clean wound an' ought toheal in no time. Our new hand Green tied him up like a regularprofessional."

  His manner was almost fulsomely pleasant; Miss Thorne's expression ofanxiety relaxed.

  "I'm so glad. You'd better bring him right up to the house; he'll be morecomfortable there."

  "That ain't hardly necessary," objected Lynch. "He'll do all right here.We don't want him to be a bother to yuh."

  "He won't be," retorted Miss Thorne with unexpected decision. "We'veplenty of room, and Maria has a bed all ready. The bunk-house is no placefor a sick man."

  During the brief colloquy Bemis, though perfectly conscious, made nocomment whatever. But Buck, glancing toward him as he lay on the huskmattress behind the driver, surprised a fleeting but unmistakableexpression of relief in his tanned face.

  "He don't want to stay in the bunk-house," thought Stratton. "I don't knowas I blame him, neither. I wonder, though, if it's because he figures onbeing more comfortable up there, or--"

  The unvoiced question ended with a shrug as Lynch, somewhat curt ofmanner, gave the
order to move.

  "Yuh don't all of yuh have to come, neither," he added quickly. "Butch an'Slim an' me can carry him in."

  Miss Thorne, who had already started toward the house, glanced over oneshoulder. "If Green knows something about first aid, as you say, he'dbetter come too, I think."

  Buck glanced questioningly at the foreman, received a surly nod anddismounted, smiling inwardly. It amused him exceedingly to see thedictatorial Tex forced to take orders from this slip of a girl. Evidentlyshe was not quite so pathetically helpless as he had supposed theafternoon before. He began to wonder how she did it, for Lynch struck himas a far from easy person to manage. He was still turning the questionover in his mind when he received a shock which for the moment banishedevery other thought.

  The wagon was backed up to the porch, and the four punchers, each taking acorner of the mattress, lifted Bemis out and carried him across theliving-room and through a door on the further side which Miss Thorne heldopen. The room was light and airy, and Buck was conscious of a vague senseof familiarity, which he set down to his rather brief acquaintance withthe place two years ago. But when Bemis had been undressed and put to bedand his wound thoroughly cleansed with antiseptic and freshly bandaged,Stratton, really looking about him for the first time, made an odddiscovery.

  It was his own room! He remembered perfectly choosing it and moving in hisbelongings the day before he left; and as he stared curiously around hecould not see that a single one of them had been touched. There were histrunks just as they had come from Texas. His bureau stood between thewindows, and on it lay a pair of brushes and the few odds and ends he hadleft there when he enlisted. A pair of chaps and a well-worn Stetson hungnear the door, and he had just stepped over to make sure they wereactually the ones he had left behind when Miss Thorne, who had beentalking in the living-room with Lynch, appeared suddenly on thethreshold.

  As their glances met she drew herself up a little, and a curiousexpression came into her eyes. Her lips parted impulsively, but when,after a momentary hesitation, she spoke, Buck had an impression thatsomething quite different had been on the tip of her tongue an instantbefore.

  "He'd better have the doctor at once, don't you think?" she said briefly.

  Buck nodded. "Yes, ma'am, he ought. I've done the best I could, and thechances are he'll get along all right; but a regular doctor ought to lookhim over as soon as possible."

  "I thought so. I've just told Tex to send a man to town at once and wireDr. Blanchard, who lives about twelve miles up the line. It'll take himthree or four hours to ride over, but there's no one nearer."

  "I wish you'd let me go," said Stratton impulsively. "I've got to returnthe horse I borrowed and get blankets and some things I left at the store.There's really nothing more I can do for Bemis by hanging around."

  Her brows crinkled doubtfully. "Well, if you're sure--I suppose there's noreason why you shouldn't. Tell Tex I said you were to go. He'll give youthe directions. Only you'll have to hurry."

  With a murmured word of thanks, Buck snatched up his hat and hastened intothe living-room. As he passed the big table he was aware of a door at thefarther end opening, but he did not turn his head. An instant later, as hewas in the act of springing off the porch, he heard a woman's voice behindhim, soft, low, and a little shaken.

  "What is it, Mary? What's happened? You don't mean to tell me that--thatanother man's been shot."

  Buck's eyes widened, but he did not pause. "That's the aunt, I reckon," hemuttered, as he sped down the slope. His lips straightened. "Another! Holycats! What the devil am I up against, anyhow? A murder syndicate?"