Desert Conquest

by Chisholm, A M

  "I hate trouble and I love peace," said the sheriff. "No feuds is goin' to flourish around where I am. But you come along. You're actin' right. I'm glad to have you. Can you start in the mornin'?"

  "Make it afternoon; I've things to see to first. How are you fixed for a horse?"

  "I've got my own hoss back yander in town. I hated to use him till I had to. That's why I hired a team."

  "I have a pack horse. That's all we'll need. Bring your own outfit. I've plenty of grub here."

  "That's mighty kind," said the sheriff. "The county will pay for your hoss and the grub."

  "I don't want pay. This is my shout. I'm doing it for my friends."

  "Well, your friends ought to be right obliged. I'll remember it. You won't find me makin' things harder. And now I'll pike along back to town."

  They shook hands and the sheriff climbed back into the sagging buckboard and departed. Casey returned to his quarters and began to gather an outfit by the only practical method; that is to say, by piling everything he wanted in a heap. He was engaged in this occupation when Clyde knocked and entered.

  "Why, Casey, whatever are you doing?"

  He told her, and she approved his plan. She began to examine the heap he had thrown together on the table—knife, cartridges, fishhooks and line, compass, matches, sweater, poncho—with a girl's interest in such masculine possessions. But she exclaimed at the lack of toilet articles. Where were his razors, his hairbrushes?

  "I'll get along without them."

  "My goodness, boy, you'll be scrubby. Aren't you going to take even a—a toothbrush?"

  "Yes, I'll do that," he laughed. "There, that's enough for to-night. Feng will put up grub in the morning. What have you done with Kitty Wade and her husband? Hadn't we better look them up? They may be making love on the sly."

  "Do you need a chaperon so badly?" She slipped her arm in his. "Come on, then. They've gone for a walk up the ditch. We'll meet them and come back together. Only I want to impress upon you, Casey, that they must walk ahead of us—unless it gets very dark, indeed."

  "I think I get you," he laughed. "We'll arrange that detail. Kitty Wade is a most sympathetic young matron."

  They found the Wades, and their evening stroll became an inspection of the ranch. The effects of the rain were already visible in the colour of the grain. It was darker, more vigorous, sending forth new shoots. The grass lands, where the network of roots had retained the earlier moisture, were lush and knee deep. Soon it would be ready to cut.

  The beauty of the evening held them out of doors. It was good to idle in the twilight with the scent of clover in the nostrils, to walk among the growing things. It was sweet to exchange confidences, to plan for the future as man and woman have from the beginning, painting it brightly, draping it in rose and gold, a perfect picture wherein all the colours harmonized.

  It was the time of dreams. They gazed into the future as children might look across an unknown sea, seeing in fancy its stately galleons, its tall treasure ships, its white-winged pleasure craft, its wondrous, palm-fringed islands, where summer abode always; but they had no eyes for leaden skies and sullen shouldering swells spouting on hidden reefs, the great, gray bergs fog-hidden in the ship track, the drifting derelicts whose hopes were once as fair as their own. For God has mercifully arranged that these things shall be hidden from our eyes until the proper time.

  Even when they reached the house they were not inclined to go indoors. They sat in the darkness, in pairs, apart, conversing in low tones, and so another hour slipped away. Back of them the house was dark; not a lamp was lighted. Only from Feng's kitchen a path of light streamed from the door. But as they were about to leave the veranda they heard the sound of hoofs approaching.

  "Who on earth is coming at this time of night?" Wade asked.

  "Sit quiet and we'll see," said Casey. His hand closed on the butt of a gun in his pocket, which he now carried constantly.

  The hoofs slowed to a walk, and a shadowy horse and rider halted a few yards away. In the darkness of the veranda, with the deeper background of the building, they were invisible.

  "Be th' mortal! but they've all gone to bed," muttered a disgusted voice. "An' what do yez know about that? 'Airly to bed an' airly to rise,' as the kids' dope books has it. Maybe ut makes a man healthy, but all the wealthy wise guys iver I knowed wint on th' well-known principle that home was the last place to close up. Faix, a man'll go home whin he's in no state f'r anny other place. Whoa! Howld still, there's a good harrse, till I see what's best to do. Don't be so onaisy. Whoa, darlin'! Bad cess to ye, ye roachbacked Prodestan' baste, kape off iv thim flower beds! Have yez no manners at all, at all? Be all th' saints in glory I'll larrup th' head off iv yez—or I w'u'd if I wasn't afraid ye'd buck me onto the roof. Yez have me crippled intirely as ut is."

  "Not a word, for your life!" Wade whispered. "That's a star monologue!"

  Feng, attracted by the voice, came to the door.

  "Hallo! What wanchee?" he demanded.

  "The country's overrun wid them yelly divils!" Mr. Quilty muttered. "What wanchee? Th' nerve iv him! Ye weathered-ivory monkey face, I've business wid yer betters!"

  "You keepee hossee off flowah bed," commanded Feng. "What foh you lidee him all oveh?"

  "Ask th' harrse!" Quilty retorted. "The sight iv yez onsettles him, lowgrade baste as he is. Dom a Chinaman dead or alive, annyway!"

  "You no good!" retorted Feng. "Me savvy you. You Ilishman, all same mick, all same flannel mout', all same bogtlotteh! You bum lailway man! You get dlunk, fo'get switch, thlain lun off tlack; you swingee lante'n, yellee 'All aboa'd!' you say, 'Jim Kli! what keepee Numbeh Eight?' You sellee ticket, knockee down change. No good, lailway man! Me savvy you, all light."

  "Ye cross iv a limon peel and a case iv jandhers!" cried Mr. Quilty in wrath at these aspersions on an honourable calling, "I'm a notion to get down an' slug the head off iv yez! Faix, ut's no murder to kill a Chinaman, but a bright jewel in me starry crown, ye long-nailed, rat-eatin', harrse-haired, pipe-hittin' slave iv th' black pill! I'll make yez think I'm a Hip Sing Tong or a runaway freight on th' big hill. I'll slaughter yez, mind, if I get off. Do yez know where yez will go whin yez die at my hands?"

  "Me go to heaven," said Feng, with comfortable conviction.

  "Th' —— ye say!" ejaculated Mr. Quilty, in shocked amazement. "I think I see ye there!"

  "You no see me," said Feng. "No Ilish lailway man stop in heaven. Me catchee heaven all light. Missionally say so."

  "Is ut mish-naries they send to waste time on the loikes iv yez?" snorted Mr. Quilty. "Hivin! Fine comp'ny ye'd be f'r the holy men and blessid saints an' martyrs an' pure, snow-white angels! Why, ye idolatrous, stick-burnin', kow-towin', joss-worshippin' pagan son iv a mat-sailed junk and a chopstick, they'd slam the pearly gates forninst yer face and stick their holy fingers to their blessid noses at yez. Hivin! Ye'll never smell ut, nor scuffle yer filthy shoes on th' goolden streets. Purgathry! Faix, yer ticket reads straight through, wid no stop-off priv'leges whatever. Th' cindher pit f'r yours! Be th' Rock iv Cashel, I'll l'arn yez to insult th' heav'nly throng!"

  So saying, he dropped ungracefully from his horse and made a rush for Feng, who retreated, slammed the screen door, and, from inside, threatened the storming party with a formidable butcher knife.

  "Whurroo!" shouted Mr. Quilty, dancing on the steps. "Come out, ye yelly plague, knife and all, an' l'ave me knock the stuffin' out iv yez! Annyways, I'll tell ye what ye are. Ye're a——"

  But Casey, fearful of Mr. Quilty's descriptive powers, saw fit to interrupt.

  "Hello! What's all the row? That you, Corney?"

  "Yer owner has saved yer life," Mr. Quilty informed Feng. "Sure ut's me, Casey. I'm after l'arnin' this Oriental curse iv the wurruld how to talk to his betters." He mounted the steps, peering suspiciously at the occupants of the veranda. "Who's these?" he demanded. "I can't see in the dark. Miss Burnaby, is ut, an' Misther Wade an' his leddy? I believe yez were here all the time
!"

  "We just came in from the other side," Casey lied manfully.

  "Yes, ye did! I can see yez laughin', and I don't blame yez. 'Twas funny how scared the Chink was. Well, ut does thim lower races good to be bawled out wanst in a while by their superiors."

  Casey led the way indoors, and lighted the lamps. He established Mr. Quilty in a comfortable chair, with a cigar and a cold drink.

  "Th' health and inclinations iv all here," said Mr. Quilty, waving his glass gracefully. "I'm glad to see yez all lookin' so well, more partic'larly the leddies."

  "Thank you, Mr. Quilty," said Clyde.

  "It's very nice of you, Mr. Quilty," said Kitty Wade.

  "It's not often I have the good forchune to be in leddies' society," Mr. Quilty continued. "Me tongue has lost th' right twist for compliments; but, sure, if ut hadn't ut wouldn't begin to do th' pair iv yez justice. Oh, divil th' bit iv soodher am I givin' yez. It's two pretty women yez are. Well, well, I'm an old felly who's had his day. Ye won't mind me. Annyways, wan iv yez has a man, an' th' other is spoken for, belike. Now whatever makes Casey, there, blush? I didn't think he knowed how. An' Miss Burnaby, too! What'll yez do whin they's rice lodged in yer clothes and yer hats, an' white ribbons on yer trunks, an' th' waiters grin whin ye go into the diner? Let me tell ye, now——"

  "Please, please, Mr. Quilty!" Clyde pleaded.

  "Have I rung th' bell?" he demanded.

  "Bull's-eye," said Wade. "Own up to it, you two. It's obvious."

  "Oh, is it?" said Clyde. "Well, if we're half as bad as you and Kitty were——"

  "Don't mind him; he was in love with me once," said Kitty.

  "He is yet," said Clyde.

  "Faix, I don't wonder at ut," said Mr. Quilty gallantly.

  "Very skilful shift of topic," said Wade. "I admit everything. I guess we were bad enough; but you and Casey are the limit."

  "But look at th' fine excuse both iv thim has," said Mr. Quilty, beaming. "Here's long life an' happiness, an' may yer only troubles be—well, well, niver mind th' troubles. There's time enough to think iv them whin they come. Which puts me in mind that I do be forgettin' what I come for. Ut's about Tom. D'ye know where he's at?"

  "Not exactly. Why?"

  "Mebbe ye heard that th' water comp'ny is payin' off its men an' shuttin' down. Well, then, there's all iv thim hard-faced tillikums iv Cross, deceased, paid off; an' instid iv gittin' dhrunk like dacint Christians, what do they do but outfit thimselves an' start back fer th' hills, six iv thim—an' a divil iv a harrd-bunch, savin' th' leddies' presence. Wan iv thim made a brag that they'd get Tom. So I come out to tell yez, in case ye had word from him. An' they's officers out afther that young divil iv a brother iv Miss Sheila's. Somebody ought to tell the boys to skin their eyes, if so be they're hangin' around."

  CHAPTER XXX

  Casey and Sheriff Dove did not start the next afternoon. A telegram had detained the sheriff, and he did not reach Chakchak till night. He spent the evening with them, taking a great fancy to Clyde. He even blossomed out as a story teller, spinning yarns without embellishment and with great clearness. He told of cattle wars, of outlaws, of Indian fighters, of strange occurrences, of strange men, primitive of mind and of action, who had played their parts in the history of the West. It was information at first-hand, rare nowadays, and the listeners found the evening too short.

  "Blanket time," said the sheriff, looking at his watch. "I ain't a young nighthawk no more. If we're to git a good start——"

  "We'd like to hear more, sheriff," said Clyde.

  "Sho!" said Sheriff Dove, well pleased. "I could keep yarnin' half the night to a pretty girl. I ain't too old for that. Maybe when we get back we'll have another session."

  Outside on the veranda she slipped her arm in his. "Take good care of Casey for me, sheriff, please."

  "I sure will, little girl," he replied. "Don't you go to worryin', now. There's no call to. If it was easier travellin' you might come along, for all the trouble there'll be." He smiled down at her in fatherly fashion, his great, sinewy arm pressing hers, and the pressure reassured her.

  "Thank you, sheriff. You—you're a dear!"

  "Do I git a bid to the weddin'?"

  "Of course you do." Clyde blushed and laughed. "Only I don't know just when it will be."

  "Make it soon," he advised. "Life's short, little girl. Take all the happiness you can git. Good night."

  They rode westward in the morning before the sun had risen, and camped that night in the foothills, having seen nobody. They entered the pass, and immediately came upon the trail of horses.

  "Looks like there's been some travel," said the sheriff. "This here pass used much?"

  "Not at this time of year. The Indians use it in the fall. They hunt across the range."

  "These horses is shod," the sheriff remarked. "I sh'd say there's been half a dozen of 'em. Not less. Maybe more. I've knowed men that could tell exact."

  "Not many of them left now."

  "That's so. There ain't much need for trailin' these days. Too many telegraph wires."

  They held to the pass, as did the hoofprints, eventually dropping down into the valley of the Klimminchuck, where they camped for the night beside the ford, cooked supper, unrolled their blankets, and lay by the fire, smoking.

  "This bunch of hosses," the sheriff observed, "seems to have split up here. Two or three of 'em crossed over, but the most went down the valley. What's down there?"

  "Just valley. It's partly open and part heavy timber. There was a pack trail cut through once, but it's mostly grown up."

  "Nobody lives down there?"

  "Not a soul. Now and then somebody traps in winter."

  "Um." The sheriff was thoughtful for some moments. "Does McHale know the country hereabouts?"

  "Fairly well. Better than I do. And McCrae knows it better than he does."

  "Um." The sheriff became silent again. "When a man goes to hidin' out," he observed after a long pause, "he 'most always hits for the country he knows. Seems like it's human nature. I'd do it myself, and so'd you. Seems like a man that's wanted is suspicious of strange ground. He don't know what's in it, and he's afraid of gettin' cornered. He don't know what he's goin' to run up against any mile. It's a mean feelin', that. It keeps a man on edge every minute. So he naturally makes for the district he's at home in. It's a mistake, but they all make it. They figure they can dodge around where they know the trails and cut-offs. Consequently it's just a matter of time till they're caught. It's like an old buck that won't leave his range. Any man can git him that wants to spend a week at it."

  "That's so," Casey agreed.

  "So when I want a man and don't know where he's gone, I find out what place he thinks he knows best," the sheriff continued. "The system wins nine times out of ten. Now you say McHale's only out temporary. He's got a clear self-defence case, or thinks he has, and he's merely side-steppin' trouble. In that case he won't go as far as another man might. My tumtum is that he's somewheres down along this valley."

  "Good reasoning," Casey admitted.

  "The way to see a man down in a hole is to look over the edge," said the sheriff; "and the way to find a man in a valley is to get up on a hill. They ain't no such thing as a smokeless campfire invented yet, though, if a man rustles dry sticks and does his cookin' at noon of a bright day, he don't make much smoke. A feller fooled me once that way. He didn't take a chance on noon, but done his cookin' at night, down in a hole. Only way I got him, the fire burned in under a rock into some old roots, and sorter smudged along one mornin' when he was asleep."

  Casey glanced up at the bulk of the ranges outlined in blackness against the sky. "If you say so, sheriff, we'll climb."

  "I hate to," the sheriff admitted. "Couldn't you make a good guess?"

  "No. I don't know any more than you do."

  "Well," said the sheriff thoughtfully, "we'll try the valley first. We may come on some sign. It's bound to take time, anyway. There's a whole heap of country he
re if it was smoothed out and stretched level."

  He knocked out his pipe and pulled his blanket around him, for down in that deep, watered valley the nights were cold. Casey followed his example. In two minutes both men were asleep, with the rush of the water and the crunch-crunch of the horses' teeth cropping the grasses in their ears.

  They breakfasted in the dawn, saddled, and took a course downstream, The trail petered out; the hoof marks vanished. They rode with care through thick brush, and more easily in open, parklike glades. Grouse rose almost under their horses' hoofs, to sit bright-eyed on adjacent limbs, watching the travellers. Occasionally deer by twos and threes bounded springily away, white flags waving. Once the horses snorted and showed a disinclination to proceed, sniffing the air nervously.

  "Bear," said Casey.

  "Down among them berry bushes, I reckon," said the sheriff.

  As he spoke, a black, furry head, short ears, and sharp muzzle rose above the tangled bushes. A narrow, red tongue licked out. Cunning little eyes regarded them with indignant suspicion.

  "Woof!" said the bear. The sound was something between the snort of a hog and the first interrogative note of a watchdog, which hears a noise that requires explanation.

  "Well, sport," said the sheriff, "berryin' good this mornin'?"

  But at the sound of the human voice the black head disappeared beneath the surface of foliage. There was a momentary swaying of bushes in one spot, like the swirl of disturbed water after a fish; but there was nothing to mark the line of the beast's flight. For all his bulk he melted through the tangle as soundlessly as a spirit.

  "Bears is learnin' manners nowadays," the sheriff commented. "Course, these here black ones never was much different from pigs. But take grizzlies. When I come West with my old people, a little shaver just able to set a pony, they was plumb sassy. I never did see such biggotty-actin' critters. Britch-loaders hadn't been in so durn long, and men didn't go huntin' grizzlies with the little old pea rifle just for fun. They was range bosses, and they knowed it. Now it's only once in a while you'll find one that wants all the trail."