Buck Peters, Ranchman

by Clarence Edward Mulford and John Wood Clay

  CHAPTER XX

  MISPLACED CONFIDENCE

  Pickles was hungry. He cocked his eye anxiously at the sun and sighed.He gazed in discouragement over the widespread furrowed earth where hisbest efforts left so small a trace and dropping the hoe, sighed again.With all his soul he wished he had not fled from the Double Y. Suddenresolution armed him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and marchedmanfully in the direction of the house. He refused to go hungry foranybody.

  Topping a rise, his head barely showed against the sky-line when hedropped as if shot. The horseman making for the house might be Jean;his glance had been too hasty for recognition. Flat against the earth,Pickles pushed himself backward until he felt it safe to turn and gallopclumsily down grade on hands and feet. Far enough, he sat and thought.He could gain the barn unseen and if he ran, would have time to dashinto the house, grab some chuck, and get away again before the horsemangot there. He sprang to his feet and ran like a long-horn steer, gazedupon by the stock in pasture with interest: they were not accustomed tothis style of locomotion in trousers.

  Pickles made excellent time on the level but when he turned to breastthe slope it was harder going; and Pickles was tired; he had been atwork since sun-up with a short rest at breakfast. He gained the barnwinded but went through and crossed to the house without pausing. Backof the house he stopped to listen. He had cut it too fine. The horsewas coming up to the door. "Darn it!" said Pickles, with bitteremphasis.

  The snap of the catch on the front door and Rose's voice told him shehad gone outside. Maybe the rider was n't coming in; they could n't seethe end window if they did and if he were quick--he squirmed over theledge, dropped noiselessly to the floor, sped through the doorway--andalmost dislocated his spine with the ferret-like turn he made in tryingto get back into the room the same instant he left it: he had barelyescaped the other's entry; if Rose came to the bedroom she would becertain to exclaim at sight of him. Pickles breathed a short--a veryshort--prayer. He put his hands to the window ledge--and stiffened.

  "No, I can't stay. Rose, I 'm pullin' my freight. How soon can you comealong?"

  It was Dave--he was going away--and he wanted Rose to go, too. Picklesknelt silently by the bunk and muffled his rapid breathing in theblankets, while he listened.

  "Where?" asked Rose.

  "Anywhere you say. I 'm a-goin' to clean up a gold mine in a few hoursan' yo 're goin' to help me spend it. We 'll get married first stop."

  "A gold mine?"

  "More money than you ever saw."

  "And you want--me--to go with you?"

  "Not with me. I got to get th' money first. I 'll get th' train toHelena to-night. You get on at Jackson. You can make it easy onSwaller."

  "I must know more. Perhaps you tell true. Perhaps you run away. Tellme."

  "Got a good opinion o' yore future husband, ain't you? Quit foolin',Rose. Have I got to show you the cards afore you take a hand?"

  "Yes," was the decisive answer.

  "All right. It's this way: Schatz deals to Peters from a cold deck. Hegets all th' money out o' the bank, Peters', McAllister's, an' his.Then he lets me lift it, him not knowin' who I am, o' course. I do th'mysterious disappearance act an' Schatz makes foolish noises too late.A posse takes after me an' runs into a blind trail. I circle back totown. Right there is where I fool Schatz. He thinks I 'm driftin'along the Big Moose trail to hand th' money over to him graceful. 'Steado' that I 'm snortin' along the track to Helena with you. Schatzdassent make no holler an' we leave him an' Peters to fight it out. Doyou get me?"

  "They will kill you."

  "Oh, not a whole lot, I reckon. I 'm gettin' so used to bein' killedthataway, I sorter like it. Talk sense. Where's th' ole man?"

  "I will leave a letter for him."

  "Hip hooray! Mighty nigh kissin'-time, Rose. _Would_ be, on'y I can'tleave this blasted cayuse: 'fraid to trust him. Which way you goin'?Don't show in Wayback. Hit th' river farther west."

  Pickles had heard enough. His exit through the window was rapid andsilent. His retreat from the house, made along two sides of a triangle,was prompted by his knowledge of the positions of Rose and Dave and hemanoeuvred so they should not be able to see him. Nevertheless thesecurity of the barn was very welcome, although he gained it only torecall that the Goat was at pasture. Then Swallow must be in thecorral. He looked from the rear door. Yes, there he was, close to thefence, gazing across the grass at the field stock and no doubt wishinghe were with them. Whimpering with suppressed delight the boy ransilently to his rope, hanging in long loops over two pegs in the wall;he coiled it ready to hand, crept out the door, and was at Swallow withthe rush of a bob-cat. The great stallion made one mighty bound, lashedout one foot and stood with flattened ears; he knew the meaning of arope in that position as well as any cow-pony in Montana and theindignity vexed while it subdued him. Pickles never bridled and saddledso rapidly in his short life. Keeping the barn between him and thehouse, he rode a mile or more out of his course before he dared to turn;then he took his bearings, set a straight line for the Double Y ranch,and gave Swallow his head. The good horse, scarcely feeling the boy'slight weight, went forward with a rush, but responded to the light handon the bridle and settled down, travelling mile after mile with thetireless stride and ease of movement that had won him his name.

  Greatly as he wished for the journey's end, Pickles rode with judgment.The first doubt assailed him as he neared the Jill: would Swallow takethe water? He was not kept long in doubt. Swallow knew better than torefuse. A master rider had put him through this stream, close to thatvery spot, in the dark of a not long distant night. The sight of thewater sent the horse's ears pricking forward; he entered readily andswam for the opposite bank the moment the ground left his feet. Picklesshouted his delight; it would have broken his heart to have beencompelled to go back to the ford. Swallow scrambled out onto the bankwith little trouble and stretched out once more in his sweeping gallop;he knew now where he was bound and pulled impatiently against therestraining touch. The pace was a source of wonder to Pickles; sevenmiles and a swim at the end of it and here he was asking for a looserein, demanding it, and going faster than ever. "Darned if I believe he_can_ get tired," said Pickles; "go on then," and he gave him his headand smiled a tired smile to note how the powerful limbs quickened theiraction and the horse gathered pace until Pickles was travelling fasterthan ever before in his life. Only the smoothness of the motion gavehim confidence in his own ability to hold out. "I could never 'a' madeit on th' Goat," he reflected. "Go on, boy! Eat 'em up!" One slenderblack ear slanted toward him and away again. Swallow was eating 'em upthe best he knew how.

  * * * * *

  Having made her decision, Rose listened carefully to Dave's advice. Themore he talked the better she understood the situation; and Dave hadscarcely mounted to ride away before she began her own preparations.They appeared to be very simple, merely the apparelling for a ride andkeeping watch after Dave to see that he kept on his way.

  Dave's disappearance sent her hurrying to the stable. She was surprisedto find her bridle missing. On the next peg was Pickles' bridle, theonly one ready for instant use. She hesitated a moment at sight of theheavy bit, but took it down and hastened to the edge of the pasture,sending a clear call for Swallow as she ran. There came no answeringhoof-beats and she waited to reach the fence before calling again. Aglance to right and left and she put her hands to her mouth and sentforth a ringing summons that carried to the far corner of the enclosure.The wait of a few seconds told her that Swallow was not in the pasture.Vexed and wondering she glanced from one to another of the animals nearher: two draft horses, a brood mare, its long-legged colt close by, allwatching her with that spell-bound intensity of gaze frequently accordedthe sudden appearance of a human among domestic animals running free.Swallow would never be turned in the same field as these; then where w
ashe? Jean was riding the only saddle pony--no, there was the Goat.Suspicion awoke in Rose: was it possible Pickles had dared to ride awayon Swallow!

  The Goat had ideas of his own; he had positively no use for a bridlejust then, but Rose had ideas of a distinctly superior order ofintelligence and but little time was lost before the Goat was plungingaway to where Pickles should be, carrying Rose astride and bareback. Hersuspicions were confirmed in part: Pickles was not where he should be.She swung the Goat through a half circle on his hind feet and startedback for the barn with a rush. Ten minutes later, the Goat, properlysaddled, turned short out of the farm road with a cat-like scramble ontothe Twin River trail. He had not carried so much weight since his oldmaster rode him and he did not like it, but knew better than to shirk;he had tried that, and the spurs, two of them, clanking loosely onRose's small boots, had ripped his sides with quite an old-time fervor.Rose had found time to adjust them after saddling; the last hole barelyheld them but they served. How she longed for the free-striding gallopof Swallow! The tied-in gait of the Goat was irksome to her but shekept him to his work and Twin River drew rapidly nearer. With Dave'sinstructions in mind she knew there was plenty of time but it would befoolish to lessen the margin of safety by loitering.

  A quarter of a mile from the ford she passed the stage from Wayback.The driver was just whipping up to enter Twin River in style and thestage occupants had opportunity to appraise Rose as she forged ahead."My heavens, what a beauty!" exclaimed a young lady on the seat besidethe driver, herself no mean specimen of God's handiwork. "Who is she?"

  The driver shifted his whip and swept off his hat with a flourish. Hegazed admiringly after the rider. "That, ma'am, is the French Rose; an'this is certainly my lucky day. I ain't seen two such pretty womenbefore in one day, not in a dog's age. I ain't never seen 'em," heamended with enthusiastic conviction.

  The coach cut through the ford to the hiss of the swirling water andturned into the straight in time for them to see a man run out from theSweet-Echo to meet Rose, standing with his hand on the bridle while Roseleaned forward in what looked suspiciously like a warm greeting.

  Another exclamation escaped the young lady on the stage: "Whitby!" andthe blush called forth by the driver's frank admiration paled as shewatched the two whom they rapidly approached.

  "Know him, ma'am?" asked the driver politely; but his companion wasoblivious to all but the scene before her.

  Rose's imperious gesture and call had brought Whitby running. They hadachieved a warm regard for each other during Rose's numerous visits tothe Double Y, made at Dave's instigation; visits that had not ceaseduntil the arrival ef Hopalong and Mary, when Dave had declared it was nouse to try longer. Whitby grasped the significance of Rose's hurriedwords in very brief time. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, thinking rapidly."By Jove! he will do it, too. They can't refuse to honor his check, youknow. Buck is the only one can stop it. Lucky Pickles was gone and youcame here instead of going to the Wayback bank. Buck has n't long leftme. I can catch him." He ran around to the shed at the rear and wasgoing fast when he turned into the trail, astride his pony. Hisreassuring wave of the hand to Rose stopped in mid-air as he caughtsight of Margaret McAllister, standing on the footboard of the coach andlooking at him with an expression he did not in the least understand.He made as if to pull up, thought better of it, and sweeping off hishat, dug the spurs into his pony and shot out over the Big Moose trailat a speed that promised to get him somewhere very soon.

  * * * * *

  Dave had not left the LaFrance cabin far behind when he pulled up withan oath and after a short period of consideration, turned back, ridingat fair speed. He found cause to congratulate himself in starting early:it gave him time to go back to Rose and furnish her money in case ofneed. He saw her sooner than he expected. Turning a slight bend in thetrail, he had full view of the Goat, not two hundred yards away, and sawhim bound forward like a racer as the spurs ripped into him; Davegripped a shout in his throat at sight of this act: why was Rose in sucha hurry? Suspicion ebbed and flowed in his mind. If she were in such ahurry, why was n't she on Swallow? But the spurring had been for speed,not for punishment. Maybe she was saving Swallow for the longerjourney. But if content to tell her father by letter of her going, whoin Twin River needed a personal call? She could not be going fartherthan Twin River--to the Double Y, for example: there was not time forthat. And why should she want to go there, either? Dave shook his headimpatiently. Either she was square or she was n't. If she was n't,there would be a group of hard-riding boys pounding along the trail intime to cut off Schatz at the bank. He decided to ride to within ashort distance of town, lay off the trail, and wait. If no one showedup, he would stick to the original plan. If Rose played crooked, hewould take a train East. If too hard pressed, he could use the relayssouth in place of Denver Gus. Denver might put up an argument but hehad one answer to all arguments that had always silenced opposition themoment he produced it. "Get on, bronc," he commanded, heading forWayback.

  * * * * *

  Buck had got farther south than Whitby suspected; so far, that Whitbywas beginning to hope he had not struck off from the trail, when hesighted him. Buck was riding head on shoulder, as if he had heard thecoming of his pursuer, and he pulled up at the other's wild gesture."What's eatin' him?" said Buck, smiling for the thousandth time atWhitby's manner of riding; it was a constant wonder to Buck that a mancould sit a horse like that and stick to the worst of them as Whitbydid. "He shore ain't meanin' to swim the Black Jack to get to theFort." The smile faded as he suddenly realized the appeal in theEnglishman's frantic waving; he rode forward rapidly and they were soonnear enough together for Whitby to be sure his words would be heard andunderstood.

  "Twin River, Buck! Twin River! And ride like h--l!"

  Buck's quirt bit into his pony's flank. Never before had he known theEnglishman profane; it must be serious. Whitby turned and raced aheadof him, rapidly over-taken by Buck who rode a fresher and speediermount. As they ran side by side, Whitby rapidly repeated Rose's news.

  "I can make it, Whit," declared Buck. "They won't try to work th' gametill closin' time at th' bank. Train bound west is due at Wayback aboutthen. Wish I had Allday under me. So long."

  Whitby slowed to a lope and Buck drew away rapidly. His dutyaccomplished, the Englishman's thoughts turned to the puzzlingexpression on Margaret McAllister's face, as he had last seen it. Hetried in vain to analyze it and unconsciously pressed his tired horseinto a faster pace in his anxiety for an explanation.

  Buck did not spare his pony. He _must_ be at the bank before the moneywas paid over. The stringing up of Schatz by Judge Lynch would notbring the money back; and Buck had grave doubts of his ability toaccomplish this retribution. Schatz appeared to grow stronger the morehe knew of him. Nobody but a man very sure of himself and his powerwould dare such deviltry. Well, it would come to a personalstraightening of accounts. Buck's grim face was never sterner. Butfirst he must get to the bank. Resolutely putting aside all otherconsiderations he gave his whole mind to his horse. Presently he shookhis head: "Never make it," he muttered; "have to relay at Twin." Evenas he said it he saw ahead of him another rider approaching at an easylope; an expression of gratified pleasure appeared on Buck's face as hesaw the other dismount and begin to lengthen the stirrup leathers. Itwas Rose. "By G--d! What a woman!" exclaimed Buck. "She thinks asquick as Cassidy an' never overlooks a bet."

  He urged his pony to its best speed. With a fresh mount in sight, hisobject was practically assured. As he drew near, Rose called out:"Horse wait for you at Two Fork Creek."

  He pulled short beside her in two jumps. "Rose, I love you," hedeclared, his eyes sparkling with pleasure; "you 'd oughta been a man!"He sprang to the ground while speaking and was astride the Goat at abound, turning in his saddle to call back to her: "But I 'm most mightyglad yo 're not." A wave of his hand and he face
d about, settling inhis seat for the run to Two Fork, five miles beyond Twin River.

  The crimson flood that burned in her face at his first remark, to recedeat his second, returned in full tide as she stood with lips apart andeyes wide, watching him ride away. A trembling seized her, so that sheclung to the saddle for support. The moving figure became blurred asthe tears gathered in her eyes; she brushed them away impatiently withthe back of her hand. "He is not mean it that way," she murmured; "itis only that he is glad I think about the horse."

  She mounted and rode soberly toward Twin River. The pony, awaiting thecustomary notice to attend to business and finding it long in coming,began to entertain a sneaking affection for skirts, which until then hehad regarded with suspicious hostility.