Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life

by Frances Parker

  CHAPTER XII

  At six o'clock on this afternoon in May the sun was still high above themountain tops. By the time Edward Livingston reached his ranch buildingsand saddled his horse to go to Carter's camp Hope had ridden the twomiles or more between his fence and the school-house. There she found,idly waiting beside the isolated building, surrounded by several gauntstaghounds, not one of the twins, but both.

  The soft-voiced twin was all smiles, but Dave with his back against thefront of the building was scowling sullenly, giving vent to his uglinessby kicking small stones with the toe of his boot and watching them asthey went sailing high into the air, then down the sloping stretch ofyoung green below. At one of those stones Hope's horse shied, but thegirl smiled, knowing full well the young savage's mood. She roderapidly, and stopped beside the boys, but did not dismount.

  "Am I late?" she inquired of the scowling twin. "I see you are on timewith the gun like a good boy, Dave, and you've brought your own along,too. We won't do a thing to those chickens if we get sight of themto-night!" She smiled at the boy, who became a trifle more amiable; thenshe turned to his soft-voiced twin. "How is it you're back so soon?"

  He brushed a speck of dust from his overalls before replying, and hisvoice was particularly sweet.

  "Had to come to report. You see when I got there they was just quittin',so I came along back with some o' the fellers. Didn't you meet Long Billand Shorty Smith up the road there a piece when you come along?" Thegirl nodded. "Well, I come back with them's far as home; then I saw Davegetting the guns, so I thought I'd get mine an' come along, too. Say,what's a gating gun?" Hope looked perplexed for an instant, then laughedoutright.

  "Oh, you mean a Gatling gun!" She laughed, then very soberly: "It's aterrible weapon of war--a wicked thing. Why do you ask?"

  "Oh, I just wanted to know," replied the boy evasively. "I heard some o'the men talkin' about one, so I thought I'd ask you. Must shoot prettyfast, don't they? Long Bill was tellin' about one that fired twothousand shots a second."

  "That must have been a terror of one!" exclaimed the girl. "But theydon't shoot quite as many as that, not even in a minute, but they arebad enough. A few of them would simply perforate an army of men. They'rea machine gun," she went on to explain. "Just a lot of barrels fastenedin a bunch together and turned by a crank which feeds in the cartridgesand fires them, too. They shoot over a thousand shots a minute."

  "I wish we'd 'a' had one the other night," exclaimed Dave, waking atlast to a new interest in life. "And I'd 'a' had hold of the crank!"

  "Wasn't it bad enough!" remonstrated the girl. "Didn't you do enoughdamage to satisfy your savage soul for awhile?"

  "Shorty Smith's got a game leg," returned the boy gleefully, "an' so'sold Peter. Long Bill, he's got his hand all done up in a sling, too, an'couldn't go back on the round-up!"

  "I wonder how Bill done that," mused the other twin with a sweet,indrawn breath. Hope flushed scarlet, which faded instantly, leaving herface its rich, dark olive.

  "Come on," she cried severely, "if we are to get any birds to-day!"

  "I know where there's a coyote's den," said the soft-voiced twin. Davewas all attention immediately.

  "Where?" he exclaimed eagerly. Hope, interested, too, leaned forwardresting her arm upon the pommel of the saddle.

  "Well," said the boy, deliberately, sweetly--too sweetly, thought thegirl, who watched him keenly--"I was goin' to keep it to myself, an' get'em all on the quiet, but it's in a kind of a bad place to get at, somebbe I can't do it alone. It's 'bout a half mile back there, betweenhere an' home, up on that ridge behind old Peter's shack. There's a holeunder the side of the rocks, but it's hard diggin', kind of sandstone, Ireckon. I left a pickax an' shovel up there."

  "Let's go up there now," cried Dave, "an' get the whole bloomin' nest of'em! We can get the chickens later."

  "Now, look here," said the other quietly. "The find's mine. If you're inon this here deal, you'll have to work for your share. If you'll do thediggin' you can have half of the bounty on 'em. How's that?"

  Dave grunted. "Supposin' there ain't any there," he demurred.

  The soft-voiced twin shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

  "What'd you suppose _I'd_ be diggin' there for if there wasn't none?There's a whole litter o' pups."

  "Come on, then!" exclaimed Dave, convinced of his good fortune, for thebounty on coyotes was four dollars for each and every one.

  Hope looked dubiously at the soft-voiced twin, she thought of the supperat Sydney's camp, then fired with the fun of the thing rode gayly awaywith the boys.

  The hounds leaped after them, clearing the ground with long, easybounds. The girl watched them glide along, yelping, barking, filling theair with their voices. Her horse loped neck to neck with the soft-voicedtwin's. She pointed at the dogs, drawing the boy's attention to them.

  "Why did you bring them?" she asked. "They'll warn your old ones andthey'll be far away by the time we get there. You're usually soquick-witted, Dan, I wonder you did not think of it!"

  The boy made no reply, but gave her a look filled with cunning, coolintent.

  So this was his revenge--his twin was to dig into a rocky ledge for anempty coyote's den! She marveled at the boy's deliberate scheming, androde gayly along to see the outcome. To this sort of revenge she had noactual objection.

  They rode up over the top of a high divide, then followed down a narrowdraw until it widened into a tiny basin, and there, in the center ofvivid green, like a smooth, well-kept lawn, nestled old Peter's cabin.Surrounding this pretty basin were steep, high ridges and hills,smooth-carpeted, too, except the ever narrow terraced "buffalo trails,"and here and there a broken line where sharp crags of sandstone juttedout. To the base of one of these ridges of rock, back of the oldhermit's one-roomed log shack, the soft-voiced twin led the way,followed closely by his eager brother.

  The twins left their horses at the foot of the hill and climbed up aboutthirty feet to a narrow ledge, where a shovel and pickax marked thesmall entrance of a coyote's den.

  Dave set immediately at work plying the pickax with vigor, and shovelingout the stones and the hardened sand about the opening, while his twinsuperintended the job and occasionally offered words of encouragement.

  Hope watched them from below. Evidently the soft-voiced boy wasenjoying himself immensely. He sat on one end of the ledge, hisblue-overalled legs dangling over the side, while Dave workedindustriously, hopefully on.

  The hounds evidently had found a trail of some kind, for after sniffingabout busily for a moment they made a straight line along the hill,disappearing over the high ridge. Hope watched them out of sight,feeling an impulse to follow, but changed her mind and rode over to oldPeter's cabin instead. The old man limped to the door and peered outcautiously.

  He was a squat-figured, broad-shouldered, grizzled little man, withunkempt beard and a shaggy sheaf of iron-gray hair, beneath which peeredbright, shifting blue eyes. He added to his natural stoop-shoulderedposture by a rude crutch of hasty manufacture much too short for him,which he leaned heavily upon. He opened the door only wide enough to putout his head, which he did cautiously, holding his hand upon the woodenlatch.

  "How d'!" he said in a deep, gruff voice that seemed to come fromsomewhere between his shoulders.

  She nodded brightly, remembering to have seen the old fellow aroundHarris'.

  "You have no objection to our digging out a den of coyotes back here,have you?" she asked.

  "Umph! There ain't no den 'round here that I know about," he replied,still retaining his position in the door.

  "But see here," pointing toward the side hill, "the boys have found oneand are at work up there right now."

  "More fools they, then," declared old Peter, limping cautiously outsidethe door. "I cleaned out that den three year ago, an' I never knowed acoyote to come an' live in a place that'd been monkeyed with. Too muchsense fer that. I always said a coyote had more sense 'n them boys!Better go tell 'em they'd as well dig
fer water on the top o' that peak,Miss!" He shook his tousled head dubiously, watched the boys on the hillfor a moment, then limped back again, taking up his first position,half in, half out the door. His attitude invited her to be gone, but sheheld in her uneasy horse and proceeded in a friendly manner to encouragesome more deep-seated, guttural tones from the old man.

  "Do you live here all alone?"

  "Humph! I reckon I do."

  "Have you lived here long?"

  "Reckon I have."

  "Are those your cattle up on the divide?"

  "I reckon they be."

  "It must be awful lonesome for you here all by yourself. Do coyotes orwolves trouble you much? Whoa, Rowdy!"

  "They're a plumb nuisance, Miss. Better kill off a few of 'em whileyou're here. I reckon you kin use yer gun."

  "I _reckon_ I can, a little," she replied.

  "When I was in the war," he continued, "they had some sharpshootersalong, but they wan't no wimmen among 'em. I reckon you're right handywith a gun."

  "Who told you?" she asked suddenly.

  "I reckon I know from the way you hold that 'ere gun."

  Just then the soft-voiced twin rode up to the cabin. Hope accosted him.

  "Did you get the coyotes _already_?"

  "Nope, Dave's still diggin'. I'm goin' home er the old man'll be huntin'me with the end of his rope."

  "Oh, you'd better stay," she coaxed. "Think of the fun you'll miss whenDave gets into the den. It's your find; you ought to stay for thefinish."

  "I'll stake you to my share," said the boy. "He'll soon find all thereis. But I guess I'd better be a-goin'."

  "Perhaps you had," Hope replied, thoughtfully; then she rode over to theindustrious Dave, while the soft-voiced twin wisely took a straightbee-line across the hills to his father's ranch.

  This time Hope herself climbed the hill to the spot where the boy wasdigging.

  "Dave, I'm afraid there are no coyotes in there, aren't you?"

  He stopped work, wiped his brow with something that had once been a redbandanna handkerchief, then gravely eyed the girl, who leaned againstthe rocks beside him.

  "But he said," pondering in perplexity. "But he said----" He looked intothe ragged entrance of the hole, then at his shovel, then up again atthe girl. "What makes you think there ain't no coyotes there?"

  She was filled with sympathy for the boy, which perhaps he did notdeserve, and she had recollected the supper at Sydney's camp, andconcluded that this foolishness had gone far enough. She coaxed the boyto leave it until morning, but he was obdurate.

  "No, I'm goin' to _know_ if there's anything in here er not, an' ifthere _ain't_----" His silence was ominous; then he set to work againwith renewed energy and grim determination.

  She watched him for awhile, then walked out to the end of the bulgingsand-rocks and climbed the grassy hill. When at length she reached thesummit, the jagged rocks below which labored the breed boy seemed but aline in the smooth green of the mountain, while old Peter's cabin andthe setting of green carpeted basin looked very small. On the oppositeside a fine view presented itself, showing, in all of Nature'smagnificent display, soft lines of green ridges, broken chains ofgigantic rocks, narrow valleys traced with winding, silvery threads ofrushing water. Such a picture would hold the attention of anyone, butthis girl of the West, of freedom and wildness, was one with it--a partof it, and not the least beautiful and wonderful in this lavish displayof God's handiwork.

  She stood with bared head upon a high green ridge. A soft, gentlechinook smoothed back from her forehead the waving masses of dark hair.Myriads of wild flowers surrounded her, and from the millions below andabout drifted and mingled their combined fragrance. The great orb ofsetting sun cast its parting rays full on her face, and lingered, whilethe valleys below darkened into shadow. As the last rays lighted up herhair and departed, the yep! yep! of the hounds attracted her attention,and turning about with quick, alert step she moved out of thispicture--forever.

  Standing upon a rocky ledge a hundred feet below the summit of the ridgeshe watched another scene, not the quiet picture of Nature's benevolenthand, but a discord in keeping, yet out of all harmony with it, in whichshe blended as naturally and completely as she had in the first. It wasa race between a little fleet-footed coyote and half a dozen mongrelstaghounds; they came toward her, a twisting, turning streak, led by adesperate gray animal, making, to all appearance, for the very rocksupon which she stood. Not ten yards behind the coyote a lank,slate-colored hound, more gray than stag, was closing in inch by inch.The coyote was doing nobly, so was the mongrel hound, thought Hope, whowatched the race with breathless interest. The yellow dogs were fallingbehind, losing ground at every step, but the blue mongrel was spurting.On they came--on--on, and the girl in a tremor of excitement lay flatdown upon the rocks and watched them. Her heart went out to the dog.She had seen it kicked around the yard at Harris', noticed it as itslunk about for its scanty food, and now how nobly it was doing! Shewondered if any of her thoroughbreds at home could do as well, andthought not. The others were straggling far behind, but now the bluehound was but two lengths from the coyote, and its chances seemed small,but on a sudden it turned and made direct for the rocks from which thegirl watched. That instant the dog saw failure, and the light ofdetermination, of victory, died from its eyes. That same instant thecoyote saw salvation from a quick end in the narrow crevices of rock sonear, and the next it lay stone dead with a bullet through its brain.The gaunt hound bounded over its body, then stopped short, bewildered,and eyed its fallen foe. Then with a savage snarl he seized it by thethroat as if to utterly demolish it, but the girl called him off, andsomehow, in his dog's heart, he understood that the game was not his.