The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  A PUZZLE GAME

  Dr. Andover, brisk and professionally cheerful, was telling Pete thatso far as he was concerned he could not do anything more for him,except to advise him to be careful about lifting or straining--to takeit easy for at least a month--and to do no hard riding until theincision was thoroughly healed. "You'll know when you are really fit,"he said, smiling, "because your back will tell you better than I can.You're a mighty fortunate young man!"

  "You sure fixed me up fine, Doc. You was sayin' I could leave herenext week?"

  "Yes, if you keep on improving--and I can't see why you should not.And I don't have to tell you to thank Miss Gray for what she has donefor you. If it hadn't been for her, my boy, I doubt that you would behere!"

  "She sure is one jim-dandy nurse."

  "She is more than that, young man." Andover cleared his throat."There's one little matter that I thought best not to mention until youwere--pretty well out of the woods. I suppose you know that theauthorities will want to--er--talk with you about that shootingscrape--that chap that was found somewhere out in the desert. Thechief of detectives asked me the other day when you would be aroundagain."

  "So, when I git out of here they're goin' to arrest me?"

  "Well, frankly, you are under arrest now. I thought it best that youshould know it now. In a general way I gathered that the policesuspect you of having had a hand in the killing of that man who wasfound near Sanborn."

  "Well, they can wait till hell freezes afore I'll tell 'em," said Pete.

  "And, meanwhile, you'll also have to--er--wait, I imagine. Have youany friends who might--er--use their influence? I think you might getout on bail. I can't say."

  "Nope."

  "Then the best thing that you can do is to tell a straight story andhope that the authorities will believe you. Well, I've got to go. Bythe way, how are you fixed financially? Just let me know if you wantanything?"

  "Thanks, Doc. From what you say I reckon the county will be payin' myboard."

  "I hope not. But you'll need some clothing and underwear--the thingsyou had on are--"

  Pete nodded.

  "Don't hesitate to ask me,"--and Andover rose. "Yourfriend--er--Ewell--arranged for any little contingency that mightarise."

  "Then I kin go most any time?" queried Pete.

  "We'll see how you are feeling next week. Meanwhile keep out in thesun--but wrap up well. Good-bye!"

  Pete realized that to make a fresh start in life he would have to beginat the bottom.

  He had ever been inclined to look forward rather than backward--to puteach day's happenings behind him as mere incidents in his generalprogress--and he began to realize that these happenings had accumulatedto a bulk that could not be ignored, if the fresh start that hecontemplated were to be made successfully. He recalled how he had feltwhen he had squared himself with Roth for that six-gun. But thesurreptitious taking of the six-gun had been rather a mistake than adeliberate intent to steal. And Pete tried to justify himself with thethought that all his subsequent trouble had been the result of mistakesdue to conditions thrust upon him by a fate which had slowly driven himto his present untenable position--that of a fugitive from the law,without money and without friends. He came to the bitter conclusionthat his whole life had been a mistake--possibly not through his owninitiative, but a mistake nevertheless. He knew that his only coursewas to retrace and untangle the snarl of events in which his feet weresnared. Accustomed to rely upon his own efforts--he had always beenable to make his living--he suddenly realized the potency of money;that money could alleviate suffering, influence authority, commandfreedom--at least temporary freedom--and even in some instances savelife itself.

  Yet it was characteristic of Pete that he did not regret anything thathe had done, in a moral sense. He had made mistakes--and he would haveto pay for them--but only once. He would not make these mistakesagain. A man was a fool who deliberately rode his horse into the samebox canon twice.

  Pete wondered if his letter to Jim Bailey had been received and whatBailey's answer would be. The letter must have reached Bailey by thistime. And then Pete thought of The Spider's note, advising him to callat the Stockmen's Security; and of The Spider's peculiar insistencethat he do so--that Hodges would "use him square."

  Pete wondered what it all signified. He knew that The Spider had moneydeposited with the Stockmen's Security. The request had something todo with money, without doubt. Perhaps The Spider had wished him toattend to some matter of trust--for Pete was aware that The Spider hadtrusted him, and had said so, almost with his last breath. But Petehesitated to become entangled further in The Spider's affairs. He didnot intend to make a second mistake of that kind.

  Monday of the following week Pete was out on the veranda--listening tolittle Ruth, a blue-eyed baby patient who as gravely explained themysteries of a wonderful puzzle game of pasteboard cows and horses anda farmyard "most all cut to pieces," as Ruth said, when Doris steppedfrom the hall doorway and, glancing about, finally discovered Pete inthe far corner of the veranda--deeply absorbed in searching for thehind leg of a noble horse to which little Ruth had insisted uponattaching the sedate and ignoble hind quarters of a maternal cow. Sointent were they upon their game that neither of them saw Doris as shemoved toward them, nodding brightly to many convalescents seated aboutthe veranda.

  "Whoa!" said Pete, as Ruth disarranged the noble steed in her eagernessto fit the bit of pasteboard Pete had handed to her. "Now, I reckonhe'll stand till we find that barn-door and the water-trough. Do youreckon he wants a drink?"

  "He looks very firsty," said Ruth.

  "Mebby he's hungry, too,"--and Pete found the segment of a mechanicallycorrect haystack.

  "No!" cried Ruth positively, taking the bit of haystack from Pete;"wet's put some hay in his house."

  "Then that there cow'll git it--and she's plumb fed up already."

  "Den I give 'at 'ittle cow his breakfuss,"--and the solicitous Ruthplaced the section of haystack within easy reach of a wide-eyed andslightly disjointed calf--evidently the offspring of the well-fed cow,judging from the paint-markings of each.

  But suddenly little Ruth's face lost its sunshine. Her mouth quivered.Pete glanced up at her, his dark eyes questioning.

  "There's lots more hay," he stammered, "for all of 'em."

  "It hurted me," sobbed Ruth.

  "Your foot?" Pete glanced down at the child's bandaged foot, and thenlooked quickly away.

  "Ess. It hurted me--and oo didn't hit it."

  "I'll bet it was that doggone ole cow! Let's git her out of this herecorral and turn her loose!" Pete shuffled the cow into a disjointedheap. "Now she's turned loose--and she won't come back."

  Ruth ceased sobbing and turned to gaze at Doris, who patted her headand smiled. "We was--stockin' up our ranch," Pete explained almostapologetically. "Ruth and me is pardners."

  Doris gazed at Pete, her gray eyes warm with a peculiar light. "It'sawfully nice of you to amuse Ruth."

  "Amuse her! My Gosh! Miss Gray, she's doin' the amusin'! When we'revisitin' like this, I plumb forgit--everything."

  "Here's a letter for you," said Doris. "I thought that perhaps youmight want to have it as soon as possible."

  "Thanks, Miss Gray. I reckon it's from Jim Bailey. I--" Pete tore offthe end of the envelope with trembling fingers. Little Ruth watchedhim curiously. Doris had turned away and was looking out across thecity. A tiny hand tugged at her sleeve. "Make Pete play wif me," saidRuth. "My cow's all broke."

  Pete glanced up, slowly slid the unread letter back into the envelopeand tucked it into his shirt. "You bet we'll find that cow if we haveto comb every draw on the ranch! Hello, pardner! Here's her ole head.She was sure enough investigatin' that there haystack."

  Doris turned away. There was a tense throbbing in her throat as shemoved back to the doorway. Despite herself she glanced back for aninstant. The dark head and the golden head were together o
ver thewonderful puzzle picture. Just why Pete should look up then couldhardly be explained by either himself or Doris. He waved his handboyishly. Doris turned and walked rapidly down the hallway. Heremotion irritated her. Why should she feel so absolutely silly andsentimental because a patient, who really meant nothing to her asidefrom her profession, should choose to play puzzle picture with acrippled child, that he might forget for a while his very identity andthose terrible happenings? Had he not said so? And yet he had putaside the letter that might mean much to him, that he might make LittleRuth forget her pain in searching for a dismembered pasteboard cow.

  Doris glanced in as she passed Pete's room. Two men were standingthere, expressing in their impatient attitudes that they had expectedto find some one in the room. She knew who they were--men from thepolice station--for she had seen them before.

  "You were looking for Mr. Annersley?" she asked.

  "Yes, mam. We got a little business--"

  "He's out on the veranda, playing puzzle picture with a little girlpatient."

  "Well, we got a puzzle picture for him--" began one of the men, butDoris, her eyes flashing, interrupted him.

  "Dr. Andover left word that he does not want Mr. Annersley to seevisitors without his permission."

  "Reckon we can see him, miss. I had a talk with Doc Andover."

  "Then let me call Mr. Annersley, please. There are so many--patientsout there."

  "All right, miss."

  Doris took Pete's place as she told him. Little Ruth entered ademurrer, although she liked Doris. "Pete knew all about forces andcows. He must come wight back . . ."

  "What a beautiful bossy!" said Doris as Ruth rearranged the slightlydisjointed cow.

  "Dat a _cow_," said Ruth positively. "Pete says dat a _cow_!"

  "And what a wonderful pony!"

  "Dat a _force_, Miss Dowis. Pete say dat a force."

  It was evident to Doris that Pete was an authority, not without honorin his own country, and an authority not to be questioned, for Ruthgravely informed Doris that Pete could "wide" and "wope" and kneweverything about "forces" and "cows."

  Meanwhile Pete, seated on the edge of his cot, was telling theplain-clothes men that he was willing to go with them whenever theywere ready, stipulating, however, that he wanted to visit theStockmen's Security and Savings Bank first, and as soon as possible.Incidentally he stubbornly refused to admit that he had anything to dowith the killing of Brent, whom the sheriff of Sanborn had finallyidentified as the aforetime foreman of the Olla.

  "There's nothing personal about this, young fella," said one of the menas Pete's dark eyes blinked somberly. "It's our business, that's all."

  "And it's a dam' crawlin' business," asserted Pete. "You couldn't evenlet The Spider cross over peaceful."

  "I reckon he earned all he got," said one of the men.

  "Mebby. But it took three fast guns to git him--and he put _them_ outof business first. I'd 'a' liked to seen some of you rubber-heeledheifers tryin' to put the irons on him."

  "That kind of talk won't do you no good when you're on the stand, youngfella. It ain't likely that Sam Brent was your first job. Your recordreads pretty strong for a kid."

  "Meanin' Gary? Well, about Gary"--Pete fumbled in his shirt. "I got aletter here" . . . He studied the closely written sheet for a fewseconds, then his face cleared. "Jest run your eye over that. It'sfrom Jim Bailey, who used to be my fo'man on the Concho."

  The officers read the letter, one gazing over the other's shoulder,"Who's this Jim Bailey, anyhow?"

  "He's a white man--fo'man of the Concho, and my boss, onct."

  "Well, you're lucky if what he says is so. But that don't square youwith the other deal."

  "There's only one man that could do that," said Pete. "And I reckon heain't ridin' where you could git him."

  "That's all right, Annersley. But even if you didn't get Brent, youwere on that job. You were running with a tough bunch."

  "Who's got my gun?" queried Pete abruptly.

  "It's over to the station with the rest of your stuff."

  "Well, it wa'n't a forty-five that put Brent out of business. My gunis."

  "You can tell that to the sheriff of Sanborn County. And you'll have ahard time proving that you never packed any other gun."

  "You say it's the sheriff of Sanborn County that'll be wantin' to know?"

  "Yes. We're holding you for him."

  "That's different. I reckon I kin talk to _him_."

  "Well, you'll get a chance. He's in town---waiting to take you over toSanborn."

  "I sure would like to have a talk with him," said Pete. "Would youmind tellin' him that?"

  "Why--no. We'll tell him."

  "'Cause I aim to take a little walk this afternoon," asserted Pete,"and mebby he'd kind o' like to keep me comp'ny."

  "You'll have company--if you take a walk," said one of the detectivessignificantly.