The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER XXVII

  OVER THE LINE

  Few cattle grazed across the Olla's well-fenced acres--and these cattlewere of a poor strain, lean Mexican stock that would never run intoweight as beef. Pete had expected to see many cattle--and much work tobe done. Instead, there were few cattle; and as for work--he had beenput to riding line with big Ed Brevoort. For two weeks he had donenothing else. Slowly it dawned upon Pete that The Spider's ranch waslittle more than a thoroughfare for the quick handling of occasionalsmall bands of cattle from one questionable owner to another. He sawmany brands, and few of them were alike, and among them none that werefamiliar. Evidently the cattle were from the south line. Thesaddle-stock was branded "J.E." and "The Olla." These brands appearedon none of the cattle that Pete had seen. About a month after hisarrival, and while he was drifting slowly along the fence withBrevoort, Pete caught sight of a number of horsemen, far out beyond theranch-line, riding slowly toward the north. He spoke to Brevoort, whonodded. "We're like to be right busy soon."

  Brevoort and Pete rode to the ranch-house that evening to get suppliesfor their line shack. The place was all but deserted. The cook wasthere--and the Mexican Jose who looked after the "fast ones" in thestables; but Brent, Harper, Sandy Bell, and the rest of the men weregone. Pete thought of the horsemen that he had seen--and of Brevoort'sremark, that they would "be right busy soon." Pete wondered how soon,and how busy.

  The day after the departure of the men, Brevoort told Pete that theywould take turn about riding the north line, in an eight-hour shift,and he cautioned Pete to be on the lookout for a messenger riding a bayhorse--"Not a cow-horse, but a thoroughbred."

  This was at the line shack.

  Several nights later, as Pete was riding his line, he noticed that BlueSmoke occasionally stopped and sniffed, and always toward the north.Near the northwestern angle of the fence, Pete thought he could hearthe distant drumming of hoofs. Blue Smoke fretted and fought the bit.Pete dismounted and peered into the darkness. The rhythmic stride of arunning horse came to him--not the quick patter of a cow-pony, but thelong, sweeping stride of a racer.

  Then out of the night burst a rider on a foam-flecked horse that rearedalmost into the gate, which Pete unlooped and dragged back.

  "That you, Brevoort?" called the horseman.

  "He's at the shack," Pete shouted, as the other swept past.

  "Looks like we're goin' to be right busy," reflected Pete as he swungto the saddle. "We'll jest jog over to the shack and report."

  When he arrived at the line shack, Brevoort was talking with thehard-riding messenger. Near them stood the thoroughbred, his flanksheaving, his neck sweat-blackened, his sides quivering with fatigue.He had covered fifty miles in five hours.

  "--and countin' the Concho stuff--I'd say something like two hundredhead," the messenger was saying. "Brent'll be in to-morrow, long 'boutnoon. So far, she worked slick. No trouble and a show of gettin'through without any trouble. Not much young stock, so they're drivin'fast."

  Brevoort turned to Pete. "Take this horse over to the corral. TellMoody that Harper is in, and that the boys will be here in a couple ofdays. He'll know what to do."

  Pete rode at a high lope, leading the thoroughbred, and wondering whythe messenger had not gone on to the corral. Moody, the cook, agrizzled, heavy-featured man, too old for hard riding, expressed nosurprise at Pete's message, but awakened the Mexican stableman and toldhim to fetch up a "real one," which the Mexican did with alertness,returning to the house leading another sleek and powerful thoroughbred."Take him over to the shack," said Moody. "Harper wants him." And hegave Pete a package of food which he had been preparing while theMexican was at the stable.

  When Pete returned to the line shack he found Brevoort sitting in thedoorway smoking, and the messenger asleep on the ground, his head onhis saddle.

  "Here's your horse," said Brevoort, "and some chuck."

  Harper sat up quickly, too quickly for a man who had ridden as far ashe had. Pete wondered at the other's hardihood and grit, for Harperwas instantly on his feet and saddling the fresh horse, andincidentally cursing the Olla, Brent, and the universe in general, witha gusto which bespoke plenty of unspoiled vigor.

  "Tell Brent the coast is clear," said Brevoort as Harper mounted.

  They could hear his horse getting into his stride long before the soundof his hoofbeats was swallowed up in the abyss of the night.

  Pete turned in. Brevoort rode out to drift along the line fence untildaylight.

  And Pete dreamed strange dreams of night-riders who came and wentswiftly and mysteriously; and of a dusty, shuffling herd that wound itsslow way across the desert, hazed by a flitting band of armed riderswho continually glanced back as though fearful of pursuit. Suddenlythe dream changed. He was lying on a bed in a long, white-walled room,dimly lighted by a flickering gas-jet, and Boca stood beside him gazingdown at him wistfully. He tried to speak to her, but could not. Nordid she speak to him, but laid her hand on his forehead, pressing downhis eyelids. Her hand was dry and hot. Pete tried to open hiseyes--to raise his hand, to speak. Although his eyes were closed andBoca's hot hand was pressed down on them, Pete knew that round-aboutwas a light and warmth of noonday . . . Boca's hand drew back--andPete lay staring straight into the morning sun which shone through theopen doorway. In the distance he could see Brevoort riding slowlytoward him. Pete raised on his elbow and threw back the blankets. Ashe rose and pulled on his overalls he thought of the messenger. Heknew that somewhere back on the northern trail the men of the Olla werepushing a herd of cattle slowly south,--cattle from the T-Bar-T, theBlue, and . . . he suddenly recalled Harper's remark--"And countin' theConcho stuff . . ." Pete thought of Jim Bailey and Andy White, and ofpleasant days riding for the Concho. But after all, it was none of hisaffair. He had had no hand in stealing the cattle. He would do wellenough to keep his own hide whole. Let the cattlemen who lived underthe law take care of their own stock and themselves. And curiouslyenough, Pete for the first time wondered what had become of Malvey--ifthe posse had actually shot him, or if they had simply taken the horseand let Malvey go. The arrival of Brevoort put an end to his pondering.

  "Brent will be in to-day," said Brevoort. "You stick around here; andcall me about noon."

  "The old man ain't takin' chances," remarked Pete.

  "You're wrong there," asserted Brevoort. "He's takin' the long chanceevery time, or he wouldn't be foreman of this outfit. You'll find thatout if you stick round here long enough. If you don't call it takin' achance pullin' off a trick like this one that's comin', jest try ityourself."

  "He handles men easy," asserted Pete, recalling Brent's rather fatherlyadvice in regard to Texas and the opportunity for a young man to gostraight.

  "You sure please me most to death," drawled Brevoort. "You been aright quiet little pardner, and smilin', so I'm going to tell yousomethin' that you can keep right on bein' quiet about. Sam Brentwould send you or me or any man into a gun-fight, or a posse, or ajail, and never blink his eye, if he thought it was good business forhim. He'd do it pleasant, too, jest like he was sendin' you to adance, or a show. But he'd go jest as quick hisself, if he had to."

  "Then I guess we got no kick," said Pete.

  "I ain't kickin'. I'm jest puttin' you wise."

  "I ain't forgittin', Ed."

  Pete turned, following Brevoort's gaze. The man they were talkingabout was in sight and riding hard. Presently Brent was close enoughto nod to them. Although he had ridden far and fast, he was as casualas sunshine. Neither in his voice nor his bearing was the least traceof fatigue.

  "I'm goin' to need you," he told Pete. "We're short of hands rightnow. If you need anything over in the line shack, go git it and comealong down after Ed and me."

  Pete took the hint and left Brevoort and Brent to ride to the housetogether while he rode over to the shack and warmed up some coffee andbeans. In an hour he was at the house. A thoroughbred stood at thehitching
-rail. Pete noticed that the animal carried Brevoort's saddle.Evidently there was to be more hard riding. As Pete entered the bigroom, he also noticed that Brevoort was heavily armed, and carried anextra belt of cartridges. Brent was examining a rifle when Petestepped in. "You may need this," said Brent, handing the rifle andscabbard to Pete. "Go over to the bunk-house and get another belt andsome shells."

  When Pete returned, Blue Smoke was in the corral and his own saddle wason a big bay that looked like a splendid running-mate for Brevoort'smount. Pete busied himself slinging the rifle, curious as to what hisnew venture would or could be, yet too proud to show that he wasinterested.

  Brevoort, hitching up his belt, swung to his horse. Without hesitationPete followed. Well-fed, eager and spirited, the horses lunged outinto the open and settled into a long, swinging stride--a gait that wasnew to Pete, accustomed as he was to the shorter, quick action of thecow-pony.

  They rode south, across the sunlit expanse of emptiness between thehacienda and the line. A few hundred yards beyond the fence, Brevoortreined in. "Mexico," he said, gesturing round about. "Our job is toride to the Ortez rancho and get that outfit movin' up this way."

  "Goin' to turn the cattle over to 'em?" queried Pete.

  "Yes--and that quick they won't know they got 'em. It's a big deal, ifshe goes through. If she don't, it's like to be the finish of theOlla."

  "Meanin' if the T-Bar-T and the Concho gits busy, there's like to besome smoke blowin' down this way?"

  "The same. Recollect what I was tellin' you this mornin'."

  "About Brent sendin' a man into a fight?"

  "Yes. But I wasn't figurin' on provin' it to you so quick," drawledthe Texan. "Hold your horse down to a walk. We'll save speed for aspell. No, I wasn't figurin' on this. You see, when I hired out toBrent, I knew what I was doin'--so I told him I'd jest earn my pay onthe white side of the border--but no Mexico for mine. That was theunderstandin'. Now he goes to work and sends you and me down into thishere country on a job which is only fit for a Greaser. I'm goin' tosee it through, but I done made my last ride for the Olla."

  "Brent was sayin' he was short of hands," suggested Pete.

  "Which is correct. But there's that Jose who knows every foot of thedry-spot clean to the Ortez--and he knows every hoss-thief in thissun-blasted country. Does he send Jose? No. He sends two white men,tellin' me that it is too big a deal to trust the Mexican with."

  "And a fine chance of gittin' bumped off by a lousy bunch of Cholascallin' themselves soldiers, eh?"

  "You said it."

  "Well, we got good hosses, anyway. And I sabe the Mexican talk."

  "Guess that's why Brent sent you along. He knows I talk mighty littleMexican." And Brevoort gazed curiously at Pete.

  "Seein' as you feel that way about it, Ed, I got somethin' I beenmillin' over in my head. Now, when The Spider sent me down here hesaid he had some important business he wanted me to handle. Brent wasto tell me. Now I don't see anything important about ridin' line orchasin' into Mexico to wake up a bunch of Greasers and tell 'em to getbusy. Uncle Sammy Brent's got somethin' hid up his sleeve, Ed."

  Brevoort, riding slowly beside Pete, turned from gazing across thedesert and looked Pete over from spur to sombrero with a new interest.He thought he knew now why The Spider had sent Pete to the ranch andwhy Brent, in turn, had sent Pete on this dangerous mission. "Is TheSpider much of a friend of yours?" queried Brevoort suddenly.

  "Why, I dunno. 'Course he acted like he was--but you can't tell abouthim. He--he helped me out of a hole onct."

  "Did you ever help him out?"

  "Me? No, I never had the chanct."

  "Uh-huh. Well, just you pull in your hoss and run your good eye overthis a minute." And Brevoort drew a folded slip of paper from hisshirt-pocket and handed it to Pete. It was a brief note addressed toBrevoort and signed "J.E." It instructed Brevoort to accompany PeteAnnersley to El Paso after the sale of the cattle and to see to it thatthe money which Annersley would have with him was deposited to thecredit of James Ewell in the Stockmen's Security and Savings Bank.

  Pete had difficulty in reading the note and took some time to read it,finally handing it back to Brevoort in silence. And then, "Where didyou git it? Who is 'J.E.'?"

  "From Harper. 'J.E.' is Jim Ewell--The Spider."

  "So Harper rode to Showdown and back?"

  "He took word from Brent to The Spider that the boys had started," saidBrevoort.

  "And Brent--" Pete hesitated for fear of committing himself even thoughhe trusted Brevoort. But Brevoort had no hesitation. He anticipatedPete's thought and spoke frankly.

  "Brent figured it fine. I knew why he sent you and me on thisride--but I was tryin' to find out if you was wise--or ridin' blind.If we come back, Brent won't show his hand. If we don't come backhe'll collect the dough and vamoose. Kin you see a hole in the fence?"

  "You're whistlin', Ed! It's one crook tryin' to git the best ofanother crook. But I would 'a' said Brent was straight. I say TheSpider's money goes into that there bank."

  "Same here. I ain't so dam' honest that it hurts me, but I quit whenit comes to stealin' from the man that's payin' my wages."

  "Then I reckon you and me is pardners in this deal," and Pete, boyishlyproffered his hand.

  Big Ed Brevoort grasped Pete's hand, and held it till the horses shiedapart. "To the finish," he said.

  "To the finish," echoed Pete, and with one accord they slackened rein.The thoroughbreds reached out into that long, tireless running stridethat brought their riders nearer and nearer to the Ortez rancho and theMexican agent of the guerilla captain whose troops were so sadly inneed of beef.