The Coyote

by James Roberts

  CHAPTER II

  A BOY AND A GIRL

  When Rathburn had put up his horse, after giving him a light feed ofgrain in the barn, he followed the boy to the rear of the house wherehe found water, soap, and a towel on a bench, above which hung a smallmirror.

  The boy left him there, and he soon washed and combed his hair. Thegirl opened the rear door for him and he walked through the littlekitchen into a small front room where a table was set for him.

  "Sure, ma'am, I didn't figure on causing you so much trouble," he saidwith a smile. "I didn't expect anything but a snack, an' here you'vegone an' fixed a regular dinner--this time of day, too."

  "My experience with men in this country has taught me that whenthey're hungry, they're hungry," replied the girl. "And it wasn't muchtrouble. Those beans were in the oven and already warm. I just had tomake the coffee. I was expecting my brother."

  "I didn't see any men around the place," he said, beginning to eat."If I had I'd have made myself known to them before coming to thehouse. Where is he--out with the cattle?"

  He saw her gaze was troubled. "I don't know just where he is--to-day,"she confessed. "He goes away and sometimes doesn't come back for a dayor two." She stood in the doorway.

  Rathburn noted her trim, slim figure and her wealth of chestnut hair.She was pretty and capable. He surmised that her parents were dead,although he could not ascribe the reason for this deduction. Evidentlythe boy was a younger brother. He wondered if the older brother wouldreturn before he finished eating.

  "How far is it to Dry Lake?" he asked casually.

  "Oh--why, didn't you come from there?" She seemed surprised.

  "No. I came from over to eastward."

  "But it's miles and miles to any place east of here, isn't it?" sheasked, puzzled. "You must have had a long ride."

  A ghost of a frown played on his brows. Then he laughed. "Yes, miss,I've been ridin' some," he confessed. "I didn't know how far it was toanywhere or I mightn't have come in this direction."

  She looked at him wonderingly, and again he thought he saw a troubledlook in her eyes.

  "You're going to Dry Lake?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said shortly, and a grim note crept into his voice. "It'swest of here, ain't it?"

  "About fifteen or eighteen miles," she answered. "The trail leadsthere from the lower end of this valley--the same trail you came on, Iguess. Are you a cow-puncher?"

  "Don't I look like one, miss?"

  "Yes, you do and--you don't." She was confused by the quality of hissmile. But his eyes seemed to glow at her kindly, with a cheerful,amused light--altogether honest and friendly. She lowered her gaze andflushed despite herself.

  "My vocation, miss--you're too young an' pretty to be called ma'am, ifyou'll excuse me for saying so--is a peculiar one. I've punched cows,yes; I've prospected an' worked a bit in the mines. I've scared thewolf from the 'Welcome' mat by standing off the boys at green-toppedtables, an' once I--I--worked on a sort of farm." He appearedapologetic as he confessed this last. "I guess I wasn't cut out for afarm hand, miss."

  She laughed at this. "Are you going to work in Dry Lake?" she asked,sobering.

  "Well, now, that is a question," he returned, draining his cup of thelast of the coffee.

  "I'll get you some more," she said quickly, taking his cup. "Dry Lakeisn't a very big place, you know."

  "Just how big _is_ Dry Lake?" he asked when she returned from thekitchen with more coffee for him.

  "Only a hundred or two. But the men from miles and miles go therebecause--because there are places there where they can stand the wolfoff at the green-topped tables and--drink." The troubled look was inher eyes again. "Sometimes the wolf catches up with them before theyget home," she added, smiling faintly.

  "It's not a safe system," he said thoughtfully.

  "But you might get work in Dry Lake," she said hopefully. "You--youlook capable. The cattlemen from back in the hills go there andthey're nearly always looking for men, I've heard. You might meet someof them and get a job."

  He beamed upon her. "I've always heard that a woman gave a manencouragement an' ambition, if she was a good one," he mused. "You'vealmost got me thinking I'd better go straight to work."

  "Why--didn't--wasn't that your intention?" she asked wonderingly.

  His face clouded. "It ain't always so easy for me to do what I want todo, miss," he said. "I--you see----" He broke off his speech with afrown. "This is a queer country, miss," he said earnestly.

  "Oh, I know," she said eagerly. "I'll bet you're an--an officer!"

  Then he laughed. It was the spontaneous laugh of youth, vibrant,compelling, mirth-inspiring.

  "Say, miss, if there's one thing I ain't tackled yet, it's being anofficer," he chuckled as he finished his repast.

  She smiled vaguely, studying him under her long, dark lashes. The boycame into the room, holding his hands behind him, and stood with hissturdy legs braced apart, staring at Rathburn.

  "There he is now!" Rathburn exclaimed. "Did you try to wash thefreckles off?" he queried with a wink.

  "I know who _you_ are!" said the boy. There was admiration and awe inhis wide eyes.

  Rathburn looked at him closely, his brows wrinkling.

  "Yes, I do," said the boy, nodding. "Did he tell you who he is, sis?"he asked, looking at the girl.

  "Now, Frankie, we don't care who the man is," she reproved. "He washungry and he's welcome. What's the matter with you?"

  "I guess you'd be surprised if you knew as much as I do," the boyboasted. "I guess you'd be surprised all right. I do."

  "I've been surprised more than once at things you knew," the girl saidwith a laugh.

  "Yes, but I guess you'd be surprised all right if you knew who _he_is," cried the boy, pointing at Rathburn.

  "Come, now, young fellow, don't be getting all het up here," saidRathburn slowly, drawing tobacco and papers from his shirt pocket."What do you find to do with yourself around here?"

  But the youngster was not to be diverted from his topic. "I waslookin' at your horse," he said, his eyes shining. "That's how I knowfor sure an' certain who you are."

  Rathburn gazed at the boy sternly as he touched a match to hisbrown-paper cigarette. "My horse is all right, ain't he?"

  "Sure he is," said the boy eagerly. "I bet he can go some, too. He'dhave to go for you to have him, wouldn't he? You're The Coyote!"

  Rathburn continued to smile with an amused tolerance. But the girlgave a start; her hands flew to her breast, and she stared at the manwith wide-open eyes.

  "Frankie! What are you saying?" she exclaimed.

  The boy triumphantly brought his hands from behind his back. He heldout a poster.

  "His horse has got CC2 for a brand, just like it says in this bill Edbrought from town!" he cried. "He's The Coyote, all right. But I won'ttell," he added quickly, looking at Rathburn.

  The man avoided the girl's eyes. The boy laid the poster on the tablewhere she could read it again, word for word.

  "Tall--light in complexion--gray or blue eyes--good teeth--horsebranded CC2--dangerous----"

  And this man was tall and blond, with gray eyes. Five hundred dollarsreward!

  "I won't tell anybody you've been here," the boy continued. "We won'ttell, will we, sis?" He looked at the girl imploringly.

  "My brother Ed says what you want you take," said the boy, gazing atthe man in admiration. "An' he says you don't rob anybody that can'tafford it! He says the banks are insured an' you've been a friend tomore'n one that's just gettin' a start in the cattle. I won't tellanybody you've been here, an' I won't let sis tell anybody, either!"

  Rathburn was smiling wistfully. "Always tell the truth, sonny," hesaid in a low voice. "Don't forget that. I wouldn't want you to liefor me. Any man that would want you to lie for him wouldn't be a mana-tall, son. See?"

  "But old Brown, the judge, or the sheriff might come along an' want toknow if you'd been here!" said the boy in breathless excitement.

  "Then tell '
em the truth," said Rathburn smilingly. "Tell 'em a manwith a horse branded CC2 was here an' kidded you about your freckles,had something to eat, an' rode away. Don't lie, sonny, no matter whathappens."

  The girl took a step toward the table. "You--_are_--The Coyote?" sheasked in a whisper.

  "My name is Rathburn, miss," he replied cheerfully. "In some ways I'ma lot like the man described in that reward notice. An' I'm riding adun-colored horse branded CC2. I don't like that monicker, Coyote, orI might 'fess up to it."

  "Then--if you're him--you're an outlaw!" she stammered.

  Rathburn's dreamy look shifted to the boy who was staring at him.

  "You'll grow up to be quite a man, son," he said in a fatherly tone."Those freckles mean a tough skin. A weak sort of skin tans quick an'the toughest just sunburns. You're halfway between. That's all rightfor freckles; but it don't go in life. It's best to be on one side orthe other, an' the right side's the best for most folks."

  He rose and went for his hat. Then he extracted a roll of bills from ahip pocket and laid a five-dollar note on the table.

  "That meal was worth it," he said to the girl with a smile.

  She shook her head. "I--I couldn't take it," she said.

  "That's clean money, miss. I earned it circumventin' three of the mostornery card sharps in Arizona."

  She continued to shake her head. "You do not understand," shemurmured. "It--it wouldn't make any difference. We couldn't take moneyfrom a stranger who came to us--hungry. It wouldn't make anydifference who you were."

  "Aw, we need it, sis!" blurted out the boy. "The Coyote's all right.He wouldn't lie to us."

  Rathburn laughed and, stepping to the boy, ran his fingers in hishair. "I guess I've made a friend," he said in a wistful voice. Thenhe picked up the bill on the table and stuffed it into the boy'spocket. His eyes encountered the poster again and they clouded. Heturned away from it.

  "Miss, you'll let me thank you--sure."

  She nodded, retreating a few paces.

  "Then I'll be going," he said, stepping to the door.

  "To--to Dry Lake?" she found the voice to ask.

  "Yes. To Dry Lake."

  He left the house and in a few minutes reappeared from the directionof the barn, riding his dun-colored horse. He did not stop, butgalloped down the valley, waving a hand in farewell which the boyanswered.

  The day was nearly spent. The sun was low in the west, sliding downlike a ball of gold toward the rim of the blue mountains. A stiffbreeze had sprung up, driving the heat before it. At the lower end ofthe valley Rathburn found the trail he had left when he detoured tothe ranch. He turned westward upon it, put spurs to his horse, andsped toward town.

  It was just as well that the girl could not see the look which came tohis face as he rode into the sunset.