Shoe-Bar Stratton

by Joseph Bushnell Ames

  CHAPTER XXXI

  GONE

  Motionless in his saddle, save for an occasional restless stamp of hishorse, Bud Jessup waited patiently in front of the adobe shack at LasVegas camp. His face was serious and thoughtful, and his glance was fixedon the open door through which came the broken, indistinguishable murmurof Buck Stratton's voice. Once, thinking he heard an unusual sound, theyoungster turned his head alertly and stared westward through the shadows.But a moment later his eyes flashed back to that narrow, black oblong, andhe resumed his uneasy pondering as to what Buck might possibly be findingout.

  Suddenly he gave a start as Stratton's voice, harsh, startled, came to himdistinctly.

  "Mary! Mary! Why don't you answer? What's happened?"

  The words were punctuated by a continuous rattle, and ended abruptly withthe clatter of metal against metal.

  "Hell!" rasped Buck, in a hoarse, furious voice with an undercurrent ofkeen apprehension that made Bud's nerves tingle. "The wire's been cut!"

  An instant later he appeared, running. Snatching the reins, he gained thesaddle in a single bound, jerked his horse around, and was off across thepasture.

  "Come on!" he shouted back over one shoulder. "There's trouble at theranch."

  Bud dug spurs into his cayuse and followed, but it was some minutes beforehe managed to catch up with his friend.

  "What is it?" he cried anxiously. "What's wrong? Have the Mannings--"

  "They've gone, as I thought," snapped Stratton. "The two women are alone.But that isn't the worst." A sudden spasm of uncontrolled fury rose in histhroat and choked him momentarily. "There's some one hidden in the loftover the harness-room," he managed to finish hoarsely.

  Bud stared at him in dismay. "Who the devil--"

  "I don't know. She just got a glimpse of a--a face in the window while shewas closing up the kitchen."

  "Do you suppose it's--Tex?"

  "I don't know," retorted Buck through his clenched teeth. "What differencedoes it make, anyhow? Some one hid there for a--a purpose. By God! Whatfools we were not to make a search!"

  "It seemed so darn sure they'd all beat it," faltered Bud. "Besides, Idon't guess any of us would of thought to look in that loft."

  "Maybe not. It doesn't matter. We didn't." Stratton's voice was brittle."But if anything happens--"

  "Have they locked up the whole house?" Jessup asked as Stratton paused.

  "Yes, but what good'll that do with two able-bodied men set on getting in?There isn't a door or shutter that wouldn't--"

  "Two!" gasped Bud. "You didn't say--"

  "Didn't I? It was just at the end. She was telling me about seeing theface and locking up the house. Then all at once she broke off." Buck'stone was calmer now, but it was the hard-won calm of determined will, andevery now and then there quivered through it a faint, momentary note thattold eloquently of the mingled dread and fury that were tearing his nervesto pieces. "I asked what was the matter and she said to wait a minute. Itseemed like she stopped to listen for something. Then all of a sudden shecried out that some one was riding up."

  "It--it might not have been any of the gang," murmured Bud, voicing a hopehe did not feel.

  "Who else would be likely to come at this time of night?" demandedStratton. "Lynch is on the outs with everybody around Perilla. They don'tgo near the ranch unless they have to. It couldn't have been one ofHardenberg's men; he's not expecting any one."

  "Did--did she say anything else?" asked Jessup, after a brief pause.

  Buck hesitated. "Only that she--was afraid, and wanted us to--comequickly. Then the wire went dead as if it had been cut."

  Silence fell, broken only by the thud of hoofs and the heavy breathing ofthe two horses. Bud's slim, lithe figure had slumped a little in thesaddle, and his eyes were fixed unseeingly on the wide, flat sweep ofprairie unfolding before them, dim and mysterious under the brilliantstars.

  In his mind anxiety, rage, and apprehension contended with a dull, deadhopelessness which lay upon his heart like lead. For something in Buck'stone made him realize in a flash a situation which, strangely, he hadnever even suspected. He wondered dully why he hadn't ever thought of itbefore; perhaps because Buck was a new-comer who had seemed to see solittle of Mary Thorne. Probably, also, the very friendly manner of StellaManning had something to do with Jessup's blindness. But his eyes wereopened now, thoroughly and effectually, and for a space, how long or shorthe never knew, he fought out his silent battle.

  It ended in a victory. Down in his heart he knew that he had never reallyhad any hope of winning Mary Thorne himself. He had cherishedaspirations, of course, and dreamed wonderful dreams; but when it camedown to hard actualities, romance did not blind him to the fact that shelooked on him merely as a friend and nothing more. Indeed, though theywere virtually of the same age, he had been aware at times of an oddlymaternal note in her attitude toward him which was discouraging. Still, itwas not easy definitely to relinquish all hope and bring himself to write"finis" to the end of the chapter. Indeed, he did not reach that state ofmind until, glancing sidewise at his friend, there came to him a sudden,faintly bitter realization of the wide contrast between them, and of howmuch more Buck had to offer than himself.

  Stratton's erect, broad shoulders, the lean length of him, the way he heldhis head, gave Jessup a curious, unexpected impression of strength andability and power. Buck's eyes were set straight ahead and his clean-cutprofile, clearly visible in the luminous starlight, had a look ofsensitiveness and refinement, despite the strength of his jaw and chin andthe somberness of his eyes. Bud turned away with a little sigh.

  "I never had no chance at all," he thought. "Someway he don't look like acow-puncher, nor talk quite like one. I wonder why?"

  Half a mile further on Buck suddenly broke the prolonged silence.

  "I've been thinking it over," he said briefly. "The man on the horse wasprobably Lynch. He could easily have started off with the rest and thenmade a circuit around below the ranch-house. If he picked his ground, we'dnever notice where he left the others, especially as we weren't lookingfor anything of the sort."

  "Who do you s'pose hid over the harness-room?"

  "It might have been Slim, or Kreeger, or even Pedro. The whole thing wascertainly a put-up job--damn them!" His voice shook with sudden passion."Well, we'll soon know," he finished, and his mouth clamped shut.

  Already the row of cottonwoods that lined the creek was faintly visibleahead, a low, vague mass, darker a little than the background ofblue-black sky. Both spurred their jaded horses and a moment or two laterpulled up with a jerk at the gate. Before his mount had come to astandstill, Bud was out of his saddle fumbling with the catch. When heswung it open, Stratton dashed through, swiftly crossed the shallow creek,and galloped up the long, easy slope beyond.

  A chill struck him as the ranch-house loomed up, ominously black anddesolate as any long-deserted dwelling. He had forgotten for an instantthe heavy, wooden shutters, and when, with teeth clenched and heartthudding in his throat, he reached the veranda corner, the sight of thatyellow glow streaming from the open door gave him a momentary shock ofsupreme relief.

  An instant later he saw the shattered door, and the color left his face.In two strides he crossed the porch and, with fingers tightening about thebutt of his Colt, he stared searchingly around the big, brightly-lighted,strangely empty-looking room.

  It held but a single occupant. Huddled in a chair on the further side ofthe long table was Mrs. Archer. Both hands rested on the polished oak, andclutched in her small, wrinkled hands was a heavy, cumbrous revolver,pointed directly at the door. Her white, strained face, stamped with anexpression of hopeless tragedy, looked ten years older than when Buck hadlast seen it. As she recognized him she dropped the gun and tottered toher feet.

  "Oh!" she cried, in a sharp, wailing voice. "You! You!"

  In a moment Buck had her in his arms, holding her tight as one holds ahurt or frightened child. Mechanically he soothed her as she clung to him,that amazing
self-control, which had upheld her for so long, snapping likea taut rope when the strain becomes too great. But all the while hiseyes--wide, smoldering eyes, filled with a mingling of pity, of dreadquestioning and furious passion--swept the room searchingly.

  Over the little lady's bowed gray head his glance took in swiftly a scoreof details--the dead fire, the dangling receiver of the uselesstelephone, a little pearl-handled revolver lying in a far corner as if ithad been flung there, an upset chair. Suddenly his gaze halted at the edgeof the shattered door and a faint tremor shook his big body. A comb lay onthe floor there--a single comb of tortoise-shell made for a woman's hair.But it was a comb he knew well. And as his eyes met Bud's, staring fromthe doorway at the strange scene, they were the eyes of a man tortured.