The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER XV

  FOUR MEN

  Pete grew silent as he rode with Andy toward the hill-trail that led tohis old home on the Blue Mesa, where he finally surveyed the traces ofold man Annersley's patient toil. The fences had been pulled down andthe water-hole enlarged. The cabin, now a rendezvous for occasionalriders of the T-Bar-T, had suffered from weather and neglect. The doorsagging from one hinge, the grimy, cobwebbed windows, the unsweptfloor, and the litter of tin cans about the yard, stirred bittermemories in Pete's heart. Andy spoke of Annersley, "A fine old man,"but Pete had no comment to make. They loafed outside in the afternoonsunshine, momentarily expecting the two men from the T-Bar-T.Presently Andy White rose and wandered off toward the spring. Pete satidly tossing pellets of earth at a tin can. He was thinking ofAnnersley, of the old man's unvarying kindliness and quaint humor. Hewished that Annersley were alive, could know of his success--Pete haddone pretty well for a lad of sixteen--and that they could talktogether as in the old days. He rose presently and entered theabandoned cabin. The afternoon sunlight flickered palely through thedusty windows. Several window-panes had been broken out, but the onemarked with two bullet holes, radiating tiny cracks in the glass, wasstill there. The oilcloth on the table was torn and soiled. The mudof wet weather had been tracked about the floor. The stove was rustedand cracked. Pete wondered why men must invariably abuse things thatwere patently useful, when those things did not belong to any oneespecially; for the stove, the windows, the table, the two home-madechairs showed more than disuse. They had been wantonly broken, hacked,or battered. Some one had pried the damper from the stove, broken itin two, and had used half of it for a lid-lifter. A door had been tornfrom the wall-cupboard and split into kindling, as a few paintedsplinters attested. And some one had shot several holes in the door,evidently endeavoring to make the initial "T" with a forty-five. Anold pair of discarded overalls lay in one corner, a worn and uselessglove in another. Pete was glad that Annersley would never know of allthis--and yet it seemed as though Annersley _could_ see thesethings--and Pete, standing alone in the room, felt as though he were insome way to blame for this disorder and squalidness. Time andoccupation had rather dulled Pete's remembrance of the actual detail ofthe place, but now its original neatness and orderliness came back tohim vividly.

  He was mentally rehabilitating the cabin when a boot-heel crunched onthe ground outside and Andy appeared in the doorway. "The T-Bar-T boysare comin'. Seen 'em driftin' down the Ranger Trail."

  "They was to be here this mornin'," said Pete. "Reckon they aim tobush here all night and ride to-morrow. Hope they brought some grubalong."

  "We got plenty. Come on outside. This here ole room kind o' gits onmy nerves."

  Pete strode out. They stood watching the approaching riders. SuddenlyAndy White touched Pete's arm. "One of 'em is Gary!" he said, speakinglow.

  Pete stopped and, picking up a clod, jerked it toward a fence-post.The clod happened to hit the post and was flicked into dust. "That forGary," said Pete.

  Andy grinned, but his eyes were grave. "We'll be right busy," he saidin a sort of tentative way.

  Pete nodded and hitched up his chaps. One of the approaching horsemenwaved a hand. Andy acknowledged the salute.

  The T-Bar-T men rode in and dismounted. "Where's Bailey?" was Gary'sfirst word.

  "Jim sent us to fix up that line with you," replied Andy. "He's overto Enright."

  Gary glanced at Pete, who stared at him, but made no gesture ofgreeting. But Pete had read Gary's unspoken thought. "Bailey had senta couple of kids over to the Blue to help survey the line." And Petedid not intend to let Gary "get by" with the idea that his attitude wasnot understood.

  "Where's Houck?" asked Pete, naming the foreman of the T-Bar-T.

  Cotton, Gary's companion, a light-haired, amiable but rather dullyouth, stated that Houck was over to the ranch.

  "I reckoned he'd come hisself," said Pete. "He knows this countrybetter 'n most."

  "Oh, I dunno," sneered Gary. "Some of us been here before."

  "They wasn't no line then," said Pete quietly, "but they's goin' to beone."

  "You makin' it?" queried Gary.

  Pete smiled. "I was sent over here with Andy to do that same thing.But you're sure welcome to hand out any idees you got, seein' yourfo'man ain't here."

  Andy, who saw the inevitable end of this kind of talk, nudged Pete."Let's eat," he said. "I reckon we're all willin'."

  Gary, like most of his type, was always anticipating an insult,possibly because his general attitude toward humanity was deliberatelyintended to provoke argument and recrimination. He was naturallyquarrelsome--and a bully because of his unquestioned physical courage.He was popular in a way with those of his fellows who looked upon agunman--a killer--as a kind of hero. The foreman of the T-Bar-T foundhim valuable as a sort of animate scarecrow. Gary's mere presenceoften served to turn the balance when the T-Bar-T riders had occasionto substantiate a bluff or settle a dispute with some other outfitriding the high country. And because Gary imagined that Bailey of theConcho had deliberately sent such youngsters as Andy White and YoungPete to the Blue Mesa to settle the matter of a boundary line, Garyfelt insulted. He was too narrow-minded to reason that Bailey couldhardly know whom Houck of the T-Bar-T would send. Gary's ill-humor wasnot improved by the presence of Young Pete nor by Pete's pugnaciousattitude. Strangely enough, Gary was nervous because he knew thatYoung Pete was not afraid of him.

  Andy White was keenly aware of this, and found occasion that evening inGary's temporary absence to caution Pete, who immediately calledattention to the fact that they had all hung up their guns except Gary.

  "All the better!" asserted Andy. "That lets you out if he was to startsomething."

  "Yes. And it mebby might let me out for good, Andy. Gary is jest thekind to shoot a man down without givin' him a chanct. It ain't likeGary was scared of me--but he's scared of what I know. I hung up mygun 'cause I told Jim I wouldn't set to lookin' for a scrap with Gary,or any man. Gary ain't got sand enough to do the same. But therewon't be no fuss. I reckon he dassent draw on me with you two fellashere. Where 'd he and Cotton go, anyhow?"

  "I dunno, Pete. They moseyed out without sayin' anything."

  "Looks like Gary wanted to put Cotton wise."

  "Well, if anything starts, I'll sure keep my eye on that Cottonhombre," said Andy.

  "He's easy--and slow," stated Pete. "He ain't got a fightin' eye."

  "Here they come," whispered Andy. "I kin hear 'em talkin'."

  Pete immediately began to whistle. Andy rose and poked a stick of woodin the stove. "She's right cool up here," he remarked.

  "We been kind o' sizin' up things," stated Cotton as Gary and heentered the cabin; an excuse for their absence that was unnecessary andobviously manufactured.

  Pete smiled. "I got 'em sized up. Never did cotton to workin' in thedark."

  Gary paused in the act of unsnapping his chaps.

  He was about to say something when Andy White interrupted by suggestingthat they turn in early and rise early that they might get the workdone in daylight and not have to spend another night at the cabin.

  Gary dragged an old mattress from the bedroom and, dropping it beneaththe window, spread his blanket, rolled up in it, and at Cotton's queryas to sharing half of the mattress told Cotton to "sleep where he dam'pleased."

  "He's a friendly cuss, ain't he?" remarked Pete.

  "Who?" asked Gary, half-rising.

  "Why, Cotton, there," replied Pete. "You didn't think I was meanin'you, did you?"

  Andy nudged Pete in the dark. "All right," said Pete, ignoring Andy'smeaning. "You git your blanket and we'll bush outside."

  They spread their blankets under a cedar, some distance from the cabin,and lay gazing at the stars.

  Presently Andy turned to Pete. "Pete," he said gravely, "you'rewalkin' right into trouble. Every time Gary starts to lope, you reinhim up mighty short. He's fi
ghtin' the bit, and first thing you know--"

  "I'll git pitched, eh? Well, mebby you're right. I done told Baileythat if I ever did meet Steve Gary I would leave him do the talking butI sure can't stand for his line o' talk. He's plumb mean."

  "I'll be mighty glad when we git through with this job," said Andy.

  "Shucks! It won't take three hours! I know every tree and stump onthis flat. We'll be driftin' home 'long about four to-morrow."