CHAPTER XLIII
A NEW HAT--A NEW TRAIL
The day before Pete left Sanborn he strolled over to the sheriff'soffice and returned the old and battered copy of "Robinson Crusoe,"which he had finished reading the night previous. "I read her, cleanthrough," asserted Pete, "but I'd never made the grade if you hadn'tput me wise to that there dictionary. Gosh! I never knowed there wasso many ornery words bedded down in that there book."
"What do you think of the story?" queried the sheriff.
"If that Robinson Crusoe guy had only had a hoss instead of a bunch ofgoats, he sure could have made them natives ramble. And he sure took awhole lot of time blamin' himself for his hard luck--always a-settin'back, kind o' waitin' for somethin'--instead of layin' out in the brushand poppin' at them niggers. He wa'n't any too handy at readin' atrail, neither. But he made the grade--and that there Friday was sureone white nigger."
"Want to tackle another story?" queried Owen, as he put the book backon the shelf.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd jest as soon read this one overag'in. I was trailin' that old Crusoe hombre so clost I didn't gittime to set up and take in the scenery."
In his eagerness to re-read the story Pete had forgotten about thewager. Owen's eyes twinkled as he studied Pete's face. "We had abet--" said Owen.
"That's right! I plumb forgot about that. You said you bet me a newhat that I'd ask you for another book. Well--what you grinnin' at,anyhow? 'Cause you done stuck me for a new lid? Oh, I git you! Yousaid _another_ book, and I'm wantin' to read the same one over again.Shucks! I ain't goin' to fore-foot you jest because you rid into aloop layin' in the tall grass where neither of us seen it."
"I lose on a technicality. I ought to lose. Now if I had bet you anew hat that you would want to keep on reading instead of that you'dask for _another_ book--"
"But this ain't no law court, Jim. It was what you was meanin' thatcounts."
"Serves me right. I was preaching to you about education--and I'm gameto back up the idea--even if I did let my foot slip. Come on over toJennings's with me and I'll get that hat."
"All right!" And Pete rolled a smoke as the sheriff picked up severaladdressed letters and tucked them in his pocket. "I was goin' over tothe post-office, anyway."
They crossed to the shady side of the street, the short, ruddy littlesheriff and the tall, dark cowboy, each more noticeable by contrast,yet neither consciously aware of the curious glances cast at them byoccasional townsfolk, some of whom were small enough to suspect thatPete and the sheriff had collaborated in presenting the evidence whichhad made Pete a free man; and that they were still collaborating, asthey seemed very friendly toward each other.
Pete tried on several hats and finally selected one. "Let's see how itlooks on you," he said, handing it to the sheriff. "I don't know howshe looks."
Owen tried the hat on, turning to look into the mirror at the end ofthe counter. Pete casually picked up the sheriff's old hat and glancedat the size.
"Reckon I'll take it," said Pete, as Owen returned it. "This here oneof mine never did fit too good. It was Andy's hat."
Certain male gossips who infested the groceries, pool-halls, andpost-office of Sanborn, shook their heads and talked gravely aboutbribery and corruption and politics and what not, when they learnedthat the sheriff had actually bought a hat for that young outlaw thathe was so mighty thick with. "And it weren't no fairy-story neither.Bill Jennings sold the hat hisself, and the sheriff paid for it, andthat young Annersley walked out of the store with said hat on his_head_. Yes, sir! Things looked mighty queer."
"Things would 'a' looked a mighty sight queerer if he'd 'a' walked outwith it on his foot," suggested a friend of Owen's who had beenbuttonholed and told the alarming news.
Meanwhile Pete attended to his own business, which was to get his fewthings together, pay his hotel-bill, settle his account with thesheriff--which included cab-hire in El Paso--and write a letter toDoris Gray--the latter about the most difficult task he had ever faced.He thought of making her some kind of present--but his innate goodsense cautioned him to forego that pleasure for a while, for in makingher a present he might also make a mistake--and Pete was becoming a bitcautious about making mistakes, even though he did think that thatgreen velvet hat with a yellow feather, in the millinery store inSanborn, was about the most high-toned ladies' sky-piece that he hadever beheld. Pete contented himself with buying a new Stetson forSheriff Owen--to be delivered after Pete had left town.
Next morning, long before the inhabitants of Sanborn had thrown backtheir blankets, Pete was saddling Blue Smoke, frankly amazed that thepony had shown no evidence of his erstwhile early-morning activities.He wondered if the horse were sick. Blue Smoke looked a bit fat, andhis eye was dull--but it was the dullness of resentment rather than ofpoor physical condition. Well fed, and without exercise, Blue Smokehad become more or less logy, and he looked decidedly disinterested inlife as Pete cautiously pulled up the front cinch.
"He's too doggone quiet to suit me," Pete told the stable-man.
"He's thinkin'," suggested that worthy facetiously.
"So am I," asserted Pete, not at all facetiously.
Out in the street Pete "cheeked" Blue Smoke, and swung up quickly,expecting the pony to go to it, but Smoke merely turned his head andgazed at the livery with a sullen eye.
"He's sad to leave his boardin'-house,"--and Pete touched Smoke withthe spur. Smoke further surprised Pete by striking into a mildcow-trot, as they turned the corner and headed down the long road atthe end of which glimmered the far brown spaces, slowly changing incolor as the morning light ran slanting toward the west.
"Nothin' to do but go," reflected Pete, still a trifle suspicious ofBlue Smoke's gentlemanly behavior. The sun felt warm to Pete's back.The rein-chains jingled softly. The saddle creaked a rhythmiccomplaint of recent disuse.
Pete, who had said good-bye to the sheriff the night before, turned hisface toward the open with a good, an almost too good, horse between hisknees and a new outlook upon the old familiar ranges and their devioustrails.
Past a somber forest of cacti, shot with myriad angling shadows,desolate and forbidding, despite the open sky and the morning sun, Peterode slowly, peering with eyes aslant at the dense growth close to theroad, struggling to ignore the spot. Despite his determination, hecould not pass without glancing fearsomely as though he half-expectedto see something there--something to identify the spot as that shadowyplace where Brent had stood that night . . .
Blue Smoke, hitherto as amiably disposed to take his time as was Petehimself, shied suddenly. Through habit, Pete jabbed him with the spur,to straighten him back in the road again. Pete had barely time tomutter an audible "I thought so!" when Blue Smoke humped himself. Peteslackened to the first wild lunge, grabbed off his hat and swung it asBlue Smoke struck at the air with his fore feet, as though trying toclimb an invisible ladder. Pete swayed back as the horse came down ina mighty leap forward, and hooking his spurs in the cinch, rocked toeach leap and lunge like a leaf caught up in a desert whirlwind. WhenPete saw that Smoke's first fine frenzy had about evaporated, he urgedhim to further endeavors with the spurs, but Blue Smoke only gruntedand dropped off into a most becoming and gentlemanly lope. And Petewas not altogether displeased. His back felt as though it had beenseared with a branding-iron, and the range to the west was heaving mostindecorously, cavorting around the horizon as though strangely excitedby Blue Smoke's sudden and seemingly unaccountable behavior.
"I reckon we're both feelin' better!" Pete told the pony. "I neededjest that kind of a jolt to feel like I was livin' ag'in. But youneedn't be in such a doggone hurry to go and tell your friends how goodyou're feelin'. Jest come down off that lope. We got all day to gitthere."
Blue Smoke shook his head as Pete pulled him to a trot. The cactusforest was behind them. Ahead lay the open, warm brown in the sun, andacross it ran a dwindling grayish line, the road that ran east and westacross the deser
t,--a good enough road as desert roads go, but Pete,despite his satisfaction in being out in the open again, grew somewhattired of its monotonously even wagon-rutted width, and longed for atrail--a faint, meandering trail that would swing from the road, dipinto a sand arroyo, edge slanting up the farther bank, wriggle round acluster of small hills, shoot out across a mesa, and climb slowlytoward those hills to the west, finally to contort itself intoserpentine switchbacks as it sought the crest--and once on the crest(which was in reality but the visible edge of another great mesa),there would be grass for a horse and cedar-wood for a fire, and waterwith which to make coffee.
Pete had planned that his first night should be spent in the open, withno other companions than the friendly stars. As for Blue Smoke, well,a horse is the best kind of a pal for a man who wishes to be alone, apal who takes care of himself, never complains of weariness, and eatswhat he finds to eat with soulful satisfaction.
Pete made his first night's camp as he had planned, hobbled Blue Smoke,and, having eaten, he lay resting, his head on his saddle and his gazefixed upon the far glory of the descending sun. The sweet, acridfragrance of cedar smoke, the feel of the wind upon his face, thecontented munching of his pony, the white radiance of the stars thatcame quickly, and that indescribable sense of being at one with thesilences, awakened memories of many an outland camp-fire, when as a boyhe had journeyed with the horse-trader, or when Pop Annersley and hehad hunted deer in the Blue Range. And it seemed to Pete that that hadbeen but yesterday--"with a pretty onnery kind of a dream in between,"he told himself.
As the last faint light faded from the west and the stars grew big,Pete thanked those same friendly stars that there would be aTo-morrow--with sunlight, silence, and a lone trail to ride. Anotherday and he would reach old Flores's place in the canon--but Boca wouldnot be there. Then he would ride to Showdown.--Some one would be atThe Spider's place . . . He could get feed for his horse . . . Andthe next day he would ride to the Blue and camp at the old cabin.Another day and he would be at the Concho . . . Andy, and Jim, and MaBailey would be surprised . . . No, he hadn't come back to stay . . .Just dropped in to say "Hello!" . . .
Pete smiled faintly as a coyote shrilled his eternal plaint. This wassomething like it. The trembling Pleiades grew blurred.
The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Page 43
