CHAPTER XXVI
THE OLLA
The Spider's system of bookkeeping was simple, requiring neither pennor paper, journal nor day-book. He kept a kind of mental loose-leafledger with considerable accuracy, auditing his accounts withimpartiality. For example, Scar-Face and three companions just up fromthe border recently had been credited with twenty head of Mexicancattle which were now grazing on The Spider's border ranch, the Olla.Scar-Face had attempted to sell the cattle to the leader of a Mexicanfaction whose only assets at the time were ammunition and hope.Scar-Face had met this chieftain by appointment at an abandonedranch-house. Argument ensued. The Mexican talked grandiloquently of"Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality." Scar-Face held out for cash. TheMexican leader needed beef. Scar-Face needed money. As he had rathercarelessly informed the Mexican that he could deliver the cattleimmediately, and realizing his mistake,--for he knew that the Mexicanwould straightway summon his retainers and take the cattle in the nameof "Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality,"--Scar-Face promptly shot thisself-appointed savior of Mexico, mortally wounded one of his twocompanions, and finally persuaded the other to help drift the cattlenorth with a promise of a share of the profits of the enterprise.
The surviving Mexican rode to Showdown with Scar-Face and hiscompanions, received his share of the sale in cash,--which hesquandered at The Spider's place,--and straightway rode back across theborder to rejoin his captainless comrades and appoint himself theirleader, gently insinuating that he himself had shot the captain whom hehad apprehended in the treachery of betraying them to a rivalaggregation of ragged Liberties, Fraternities, and Equalities.
The Spidery mental ledger read: "Scar-Face--Debit, chuck, liquor, andlodging"--an account of long standing--"and forty dollars in cash.Credit--twenty head of cattle, brand unknown."
Scar-Face's account was squared--for the time being.
Pete was also on The Spider's books, and according to The Spider'ssystem of accounts, Pete was heavily in debt to him. Not that TheSpider would have ever mentioned this, or have tried to collect. Butwhen he offered Pete a job on his ranch he shrewdly put Pete in the wayof meeting his obligations.
Cattle were in demand, especially in Mexico, so ravaged by lawlesssoldiery that there was nothing left to steal. One outlaw chieftain,however, was so well established financially that his agents were ableto secure supplies from a mysterious source and pay for them with gold,which also came from an equally mysterious source--and it was withthese agents that The Spider had had his dealings. His bank account inEl Paso was rolling up fast. Thus far he had been able to supply beefto the hungry liberators of Mexico; but beef on the hoof was becomingscarce on both sides of the border. Even before Pete had come toShowdown, The Spider had perfected a plan to raid the herds of thenorthern ranches. Occasional cowboys drifting to Showdown had givenhim considerable information regarding the physical characteristics ofthe country roundabout these ranches, the water-holes, trails, andgrazing.
The Spider knew that he could make only one such raid, with any chanceof success. If he made a drive at all, it would be on a big scale.The cattlemen would eventually trail the first stolen herd to hisranch. True, they would not find it there. He would see to it thatthe cattle were pushed across the border without delay. But a secondattempt would be out of the question. The chief factor in the successof the scheme would be the prompt handling of the herd upon itsarrival. He had cowboys in his employ who would steal the cattle.What he needed was a man whom he could rely upon to check the tally andturn the herd over to the agents of the Mexican soldiery and collectthe money on the spot, while his cowboys guarded the herd from apossible raid by the Mexicans themselves. He knew that should thenorthern ranchmen happen to organize quickly and in force, they wouldnot hesitate to promptly lynch the raiders, burn his buildings, takeall his horses worth taking, and generally put the ranch out ofbusiness.
Thus far the ranch had paid well as a sort of isolated clearing-housefor The Spider's vicarious accounts. The cowboys who worked there werepicked men, each of whom received a straight salary, asked noquestions, and rode with a high-power rifle under his knee and a keeneye toward the southern ranches.
Pete, riding south, bore an unsigned letter from The Spider, withinstructions to hand it to the foreman of "The Olla" and receivefurther instructions from that gentleman. Pete knew nothing of thecontemplated raid, The Spider shrewdly surmising that Pete would balkat the prospect of stealing cattle from his own countrymen. And it wasbecause of this very fact that The Spider had intrusted Pete--by letterto the foreman--with the even greater responsibility of receiving themoney for the cattle and depositing it in a certain bank in El Paso.Heretofore, such payments had been made to The Spider's representativein that city--the president of the Stockmen's Security and SavingsBank--who had but recently notified The Spider that he could no longeract in the capacity of agent on account of local suspicion, alreadyvoiced in the current newspapers. Hereafter The Spider would have todeal directly with the Mexican agents. And The Spider unhesitatinglychose Pete as his representative, realizing that Pete was shrewdlycapable, fearless, and to be trusted.
Toward evening of the third day out of Showdown, Pete came upon a mostunexpected barrier to his progress--a wire fence stretching east andwest; a seemingly endless succession of diminishing posts. Heestimated that there must he at least forty thousand acres under fence.According to location, this was The Spider's ranch--the Olla--Petereined around and rode along the fence for a mile or so, searching fora gateway; but the taut barbed wire ran on and on, toward a sun thatwas rounding swiftly down to the western horizon. He dismounted andpulled the staples from several lengths of wire until he had enoughslack to allow the top wire to touch the ground. He stood on the wiresand jockeyed Blue Smoke across, tied him to a post, and tacked the wireback in place.
Headed south again, he had just passed a clump of chaparral when upfrom the draw came a tall, muscular cowboy, riding a big horse--and afast one, thought Pete.
"Evenin'," drawled the cowboy--a slow-speaking Texan, who was evidentlywaiting for Pete to explain his presence.
"How!--Is this here the Olla ranch?"
"One end of her."
"I'm lookin' for the foreman."
"What name did you say?"
"I didn't say."
"What's your business down this way?" queried the cowboy.
"It's mine. I dunno as it's any of yours."
"So? Now, that's mighty queer! Lookin' for the fo'man, eh? Well, goahead and look--they's plenty of room."
"Too much," laughed Pete. "Reckon I got to bush here and do my huntin'in the mornin'--only"--and Pete eyed the other significantly--"I kindof hate to bush on the ground. I was bit by a spider onct--"
"A spider, eh? Now that's right comical. What kind of a spider was itthat bit you?"
"Trap-door spider. Only this here one was always home."
"So?" drawled the Texan. "Now, that's right funny. I was bit by arattler once. Got the marks on my arm yet."
"Well, if it comes to a showdown, that there spider bite--"
"The ranch-house is yonder," said the Texan. "Just you ride along theway you're headed. That's a pretty horse you're settin' on. If itwa'n't so dark I'd say he carried the Concho brand."
"That's him," said Pete.
"He's a long jump from home, friend."
"And good for twice that distance, neighbor."
"You sure please me most to death," drawled the Texan.
"Then I reckon you might call in that there coyote in the brush overthere that's been holdin' a gun on me ever since we been talkin',"--andPete gestured with his bridle hand toward the clump of chaparral.
"Sam," called the Texan, "he says he don't like our way of welcomin'strangers down here. He's right friendly, meetin' one man at atime--but he don't like a crowd, nohow."
A figure loomed in the dusk--a man on foot who carried a rifle acrosshis arm. Pete could not distinguish his features, but he saw that theman
was tall, booted and spurred, and evidently a line-rider with theTexan.
"This here young stinging-lizard says he wants to see the fo'man, Sam.Kin you help him out?"
"Go ahead and speak your piece," said the man with the rifle.
"She's spoke," said Pete.
"I'm the man you're huntin'," asserted the other.
"You foreman?"
"The same."
"Thought you was jest a hand--ridin' fence, mebby." And as Pete spokehe rolled a cigarette. His pony shied at the flare of the match, butPete caught an instant glimpse of a lean-faced, powerfully built man ofperhaps fifty years or more who answered The Spider's description ofthe foreman. "I got a letter here for Sam Brent, foreman of the Olla,"said Pete.
"Now you're talkin' business."
"His business," laughed the Texan.
"Nope--The Spider's," asserted Pete.
"Your letter will keep," said the foreman. "Ed, you drift on alongdown the fence till you meet Harper. Tell him it's all right." Andthe foreman disappeared in the dusk to return astride a big cowhorse."We'll ride over to the house," said he.
Pete estimated that they had covered three or four miles before theranch-buildings came in sight--a dim huddle of angles against thestarlit sky. To his surprise the central building was roomy andfurnished with a big table, many chairs, and a phonograph, while thefloor was carpeted with Navajo blankets, and a big shaded hanging lampillumined the table on which were scattered many dog-eared magazinesand a few newspapers. Pete had remarked upon the stables while turninghis own horse into the corral. "We got some fast ones," was all thatthe foreman chose to say, just then.
Pete and the foreman had something to eat in the chuck-house, andreturned to the larger building. Brent read The Spider's letter,rolled the end of his silver-gray mustache between his thumb andforefinger, and finally glanced up. "So, you're Pete Annersley?"
"That's my name."
"Have a chair. You're right young to be riding alone. How did youcome to throw in with The Spider?"
Pete hesitated. Why should he tell this man anything other than thathe had been sent by The Spider with the letter which--he had beentold--would explain his presence and embody his instructions?
"Don't he say in that letter?" queried Pete.
"He says you were mixed up in a bank robbery over to Enright," statedthe foreman.
"That's a dam' lie!" flared Pete.
"I reckon you'll do," said Brent, as he folded the letter. The Spiderhad made that very statement in his letter to Brent for the purpose offinding out, through the foreman, whether or not Pete had taken it uponhimself to read the letter before delivering it. And Brent, aware ofThe Spider's methods, realized at once why his chief had misstated thefacts. It was evident that Pete had not read the letter, otherwise hewould most probably have taken his cue from The Spider's assertionabout the bank robbery and found himself in difficulties, for directlyafter the word "Enright" was a tiny "x"--a code letter which meant"This is not so."
"Reckon I'll do what?" queried Pete. "Let The Spider or anybody likehim run a whizzer on me after I run a good hoss ragged to git here withhis doggone letter--and then git stuck up like I was a hoss-thief? Yougot another guess, uncle."
The old cowman's eyes twinkled. "You speak right out in meetin', don'tyou, son?" His drawl was easy and somehow reminded Pete of PopAnnersley. "Now there's some wouldn't like that kind of talk--evenfrom a kid."
"I'd say it to The Spider as quick as I would to you," asserted Pete.
"Which might be takin' a chance, both ways."
"Say"--and Pete smiled--"I guess I been talkin' pretty fast, I was somehet up. The Spider used me as white as he could use anybody, I reckon.But ever since that killin' up to his place, I been sore at the wholedoggone outfit runnin' this here world. What does a fella git, anyhow,for stickin' up for himself, if he runs against a killer? He gitsbumped off--or mebby he kills the other fella and gits run out of thecountry or hung. Pardners stick, don't they? Well, how would it gityou if you had a pardner that--well, mebby was a girl and she gotkilled by a bunch of deputies jest because she was quick enough tospoil their game? Would you feel like shakin' hands with every doggonehombre you met up with, or like tellin' him to go to hell and sendin'him there if he was lookin to argue with you? I dunno. Mebby I'mwrong--from the start--but I figure all a fella gits out of this gameis a throwdown, comin' or goin'--'for the deck is stacked and the wheelis crooked."
"I was fifty-six last February," said Brent.
"And how many notches you got on your gun?" queried Pete.
"Oh, mebby two, three," drawled the foreman.
"That's it! Say you started in callin' yourself a growed man when youwas twenty. Every ten years you had to hand some fella his finish tokeep from makin' yours. 'Got to kill to live,' is right!"
"Son, you got a good horse, and yonder is the whole State of Texas,where a man can sure lose himself without tryin' hard. There's plentyof work down there for a good cow-hand. And a man's name ain't printedon his face. Nobody's got a rope on you."
"I git you," said Pete. "But I throwed in with The Spider--and thatgoes."
"That's your business--and as you was sayin' your business ain't mine.But throwin' a fast gun won't do you no good round here."
"Oh, I don't claim to be so doggone fast," stated Pete.
"Faster than Steve Gary?"
Pete's easy glance centered to a curious, tense gaze which was fixed onthe third button of Brent's shirt. "What about Steve Gary?" askedPete, and even Brent, old hand as he was, felt the sinistersignificance in that slow question. The Spider's letter had said to"give him a try-out," which might have meant almost anything to acasual reader, but to Brent it meant just what he had been doing thatevening--seeking for a weak spot in Pete's make-up, if there were such,before hiring him.
"My gun is in the bedroom," said Brent easily.
"Well, Gary's wasn't," said Pete.
"We ain't had a gun-fight on this ranch since I been foreman," saidBrent. "And we got some right fast men, at that. Seein' you're goin'to work for me a spell, I'm goin' to kind of give you a line on things.You can pick your own string of horses--anything that you can get yourrope on that ain't branded 'J.E.', which is pet stock and no good atworkin' cattle. You met up with Ed Brevoort this evenin'. Well, youcan ride fence with Ed and he'll show you the high spots andhollows--and the line--south. If you run onto any strangers ridin' tooclose to the line, find out what they want. If you can't find out, getword to me. That goes for strangers. But if you get to arguin' withany of my boys--talk all you like--but don't start a smoke--_for youwon't get away with it_. The Spider ain't payin' guns to shoot up hisown outfit. If you're lookin' for real trouble, all you got to do isto ride south acrost the line--and you'll find it. And you're gettin'a straight hundred a month and your keep as long as you work for theOlla."
"Which is some different from takin' my hoss and fannin' it easy forTexas," said Pete, grinning.
"Some different," said Brent.
The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Page 26
