Laramie Holds the Range

by Frank H. Spearman

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  A DIFFICULT RESOLVE

  For two days Kate burned in feverish reaction from her exposure,wretched in mind and body. Her only effort in that time was to getdown to the corral and see that Bradley, acting as barn boy, should dosomething for her cut and bruised pony.

  Her father was still in Medicine Bend, and Van Horn, much to herrelief, had disappeared. When she left her bed she spent the morningtrying to rehabilitate her riding suit. The task called for all heringenuity and she was still in the kitchen working on it late in theafternoon when Bradley came in.

  He had no sooner sat down by the door to report to Kate at his ease,than Kelly interrupted him with a call for wood. Even after he hadfilled the box, Kelly warned him he would have to split more nextmorning to get a supply ahead.

  "Easy, Kelly," remonstrated Bradley, in his deeply tremulous voice."Easy. I can't split no wood t'morrow mornin', not for nobody."

  "Why not?"

  "Got to go to town."

  "What for?"

  Bradley declined to answer, but Kelly, persistent, bored into hisevasiveness until Kate tired at the discussion: "Tell him what you'regoing for and be done with it," she said tartly. The reaction of threedays had not left her own nerves unaffected; she admitted to herselfshe was cross.

  Bradley, taken aback by this unexpected assault, still tried totemporize. Kate refused to countenance it. When he saw he was in forit, he appealed to her generosity: "It'd be most 's much 's my job'sworth if they knew here what I'm goin' to town tomorrow f'r."

  "If that's all," said Kate, to reassure the old man, "I'll standbetween you and losing your job."

  Bradley drew his stubby chin and shabby beard in and threw his voicedown into his throat: "D' y' mean that? Then don't say nothin', youand Kelly. Least said, soonest mended. I'm goin' t' town t'morrow t'see the biggest funeral ever pulled off in Sleepy Cat," he announcedwith bleary dignity.

  "What do you mean--whose funeral?" demanded Kate, looking at himsuddenly.

  "Abe Hawk's. It's goin' t' be t'morrow er next day."

  If the old man had meant to stupefy his questioner, he could not betterhave succeeded. Kate turned deathly white. She bent over the tableand busied herself with her ironing. Bradley, pleased with hisconfidence safely made, talked on. He found a pride in talking toKate, with Kelly in and out of the room, and launched into unrestrainedeulogies of the famed rustler, always the friend of the poor man, onceking of the great north range itself.

  "It's a pity," murmured Kate, when she felt she must say something,"that he ever went wrong."

  Bradley had a point to offer even on that. "It's a pity they everblacklisted him; that was Stone's get-up. And Stone, when I wassheriff, was the biggest thief in the county an' the county was fourtimes as big then as it is now--that's 'tween you 'n' me."

  "Were you ever sheriff, Bill?"

  "You won't believe it, but it's so--dash me 'n' dash drunkards one andall."

  "I hear, though," returned Kate, only because in her distress of mindshe could think of nothing else to say, "that Tom Stone has stoppeddrinking."

  "That man," was Bradley's retort, and he kept his tremulous voice stillfar down in his throat, "is mean enough to do any d--d thing."

  "You used to be sheriff?"

  "Yes. And when I was sheriff, Kate, I found out it was better to trustan honest man turned thief than a thief turned honest man."

  Kate, listening to his halting maunderings, hardly heeded them. Sheheard in her troubled ears the rush of mad waters; phantom voicescracked again in pistoled oaths at the horses, the fear of sudden deathclutched at her heart, and in the dreadful dark a powerful arm caughther again and drew her, helpless, out of an engulfing flood.

  She got out of doors. The sunshine, clear and calm, belied thepossibility of a night such as Bradley's words had summoned. "Dead,"she kept saying to herself. Laramie had been sure he would get out ofthe creek. What could it mean?

  She went back to the kitchen where Bradley, eating supper, had switchedfrom his long-winded topic. Kate had to question him: "What was thematter with Abe? When did he die?" she asked, as unconcernedly as shecould.

  There was little satisfaction in Bradley's slow, formal answer: "Some'sgot it one way and some's got it another, Kate. I can't rightly saywhat ailded him or when he died 'n' I guess nobody else can, f'r sure.Some says he got shot; some says he was drownded 'a' las' Tuesday nightin the Crazy Woman; some says they's been a fight nobody's heard ofyit, 't' all. The only man that knows for sure--if he does know--isthe man that brought him into Sleepy Cat 'n' if he knows he won'ttell." He held out his big enameled cup. "Kelly, gi' me jus' a squirto' coffee, will y'?"

  Kate, on nettles, waited to hear who had brought Hawk in. Bradleywould not volunteer the name. Some deference was due him as thepurveyor of the big news, and he meant that anyone curious of detailshould do the asking. Kate, realizing this, framed with reluctance thequestion he was waiting for: "Who brought Abe in?"

  Even so, she knew there would be but one answer. Bradley gulpedanother mouthful of scalding coffee and set down his cup. "JimLaramie," he answered laconically.

  She said to herself that Hawk had never got out of the creek; that hehad drowned miserably in the flood. She tortured herself withconjecture as to exactly what had happened. And night brought norelief. Sleepless, she tossed, marveling at how close his death hadcome home to her. Every scrap of the meager news added to what shealready knew--pointed to what she most feared.

  She lay propped up on her pillows and looked through the open windowout on the glittering stars. Strange constellations passed inbrilliant procession before her eyes. And while she lay thusreflecting and revolving in her mind the loneliness and unhappiness ofher surroundings, a startling suggestion far removed from these doubtsoffered itself to her mind. Repelled at first, it came back as ifdemanding acceptance. And not until after she had promised herself shewould consider it, did her thoughts give her any peace. She fell intoan uneasy slumber and woke with day barely breaking; but without aninstant's delay she dressed and slipped from her room out to the barn.

  Forehanded as she had been in getting an early start, Bradley wasalready stirring. Pail in hand, the old man, standing in front of thefeed bin, stared at Kate speechless as she walked in on him.

  "Who's sick?" he demanded after a moment.

  "Nobody, Bill. I'm going to town with you, that's all."

  "With _me_?"

  She half laughed at herself and at his surprise. "I mean, I'm for townearly. Get up a pony for me--Spider Legs will do."

  Born of long-forgotten experience in waiting for women, Bill Bradley,as Kate walked away, put in a caveat: "I'm headin' out jus' soon's Ic'n get breakfast."

  "I, too, Bill. I'll be across the divide before you are."

  Curiosity would not down: "What y' goin' t' town f'r?" he called.

  Turning half around, Kate, with a little shrug, paused. She would notbe ungracious: "To pick up a few things," she answered unconcernedly.

  Bill, not satisfied, felt obliged to desist. "Startin' airly," was hisonly grumble. Had he known what possibilities for that day had lodgedthemselves in Kate's mind, he would not have been able to slip SpiderLegs' bridle over his ears. But his business being only to get up thehorse, he discharged it with shaky fidelity and for himself startedwith high expectations for town. Had he been given to speculating onthe variableness of woman, he might have found a text in Spider Legs'standing for hours after he was made ready. And in the end hismistress unsaddled him and turned him back into the corral.

  The truth was, Kate had been seized with cruel fits of doubt and for along time could not decide whether she ought to go to town or not. Butas often as she gave up the idea of going, a heart-strong impulsepleaded against her uneasy restraint. She felt she _must_ go.