Marble Range

by Robert J. Horton

  “We’ve been losing cattle,” she confessed.

  “And you naturally want to know how and why,” he supplemented.

  “It’s very strange,” she said. “Up to last fall and this spring our losses were confined to hardships during the winters. Manley thinks they are being stolen. He’s told me as much, but has found out nothing.”

  This information brought a thoughtful look to Bannister’s face.

  “And then . . .” Florence hesitated. “Another . . . or one of the reasons I was anxious to have you out here is because Howard seems to have taken to you as he has never taken to any man on the ranch. He’s just at the age when he needs looking after. I mean when he needs advice and companionship. He appears to have a great deal of respect for what you say. Oh, I didn’t hire you to be a nurse”—she smiled in friendly fashion—“but if you can do something for Howard without it bothering you, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I reckon that won’t be hard,” Bannister assured her. He was not looking at her, but had turned his head a bit to the right. A slight rasping sound had reached his ears as she was talking. Now he felt a breath of air from the window behind him.

  “And also, there’s another matter on my mind . . .”

  “Just a moment, Miss Florence,” he interrupted in a louder voice than he had used before. “Please excuse me for breaking in, but before we go any further there is a letter in my pack that I think you should see.” While speaking, he was signaling her with his eyes and, with a hand held closely in front of him, indicating the window behind. He saw by her single alert glance at the curtained window that she understood.

  “Do you mind if I go get it?” he asked with the slightest of nods.

  “Of course not,” she replied. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  Bannister rose quickly, hurried through the dining room, and out the kitchen door. He stole to the farther end of the porch and dropped lightly to the ground. He peered around the corner of the house just in time to see a figure dart into the deep shadow of the lilac bushes near the window, which had been raised while he and Florence were talking. He drew back, and ran lightly to the courtyard. There was light shining from the bunkhouse windows. He sped on to the barn, where he saddled and bridled his horse. Then he led the animal out the rear door and left it, with reins dangling, in the cottonwoods. He hastened back to the house and entered the way he had left.

  From the dining room he again signaled Florence. He put a finger to his lips, shook his head, and pointed toward the window that was being used by the eavesdropper. Then he entered the living room briskly.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Florence, but I couldn’t find it,” he said in a tone of disappointment. “Anyway, it was a letter from the outfit I worked with last down on the Gallatin. It was a recommendation, sort of, and I thought you ought to see it. It says I’m a top hand at working cows.”

  The significance of his speech was not lost on the girl. “Then I guess Manley’s proposal to put you on the north range is a good idea,” she said, sighing as if she was glad the matter was settled. “I suppose Howard would like to go up there with you.”

  “I’ll talk it over with him,” said Bannister, who had not returned to his chair. “I think he’ll go.”

  Florence rose. “We’ll see in the morning,” she said, and followed him into the dining room.

  There, where they couldn’t be seen, he turned quickly. “Someone was listening at the window behind me,” he said in low, guarded tones. “Made the letter excuse to get out and make sure. What was the other matter? Tell me quickly. I don’t think you’ll have to give me any orders.”

  “It’s the irrigation project,” she whispered excitedly. “I may invest another fifty thousand. It means everything to our land here. But the other stock raisers are against it. They’re planning something. I want to know what it is . . . and I want you to find out.”

  He looked into her eyes; serious and troubled eyes they were. “Miss Florence, you’ve come to headquarters for help,” he said. He grasped her hand for a moment and hurried out the back door, closing it softly behind him.

  In a trice he was over the rail at the end of the porch and looking around the corner of the house. There was no figure beneath the window. From the lower end of the yard came the muffled sounds of a horse’s hoofs. He ran for the cottonwoods behind the barn where he had left his own mount. In a space of minutes he was threading his way through the trees along the bottoms, following the trail by which he had first come to Marble range.

  Chapter Seven

  Bannister’s ruse had worked perfectly. When he had told Florence Marble he was going for a letter, the eavesdropper had waited to make sure she remained in the room and had slipped into the bushes until he again heard Bannister’s voice. He had returned to the window and then gone for his horse when they left the living room, thinking that the interview was over. Thus he had missed what Bannister considered the most important piece of work outlined by the Half Diamond owner. He had known from the start that Cromer’s irrigation project was somehow to be mixed up with his activities on behalf of Florence Marble.

  A hundred thousand dollars, Bannister thought as he sped out of the trees and past the horse pasture. No wonder Florence Marble was interested in any plan the other stock raisers might have that would hamper the development of the project. As yet he could not see just what benefits would accrue to the Half Diamond, save a profit on the investment. As he rounded the horse pasture, he saw a flying shadow far ahead, some distance out from the trees along the river. He put spurs to his horse and took advantage of the shadow of the trees, spurting to lessen the distance between himself and the rider ahead. It was not long before he could make out the forms of horse and rider in the starlight and he found his suspicions were correct. The man ahead was undoubtedly Link.

  This explained, as he had suspected, Link’s sudden decision to return to Marble Dome. He had tried to mislead them into thinking he had gone, whereas he had been hiding along the river for the purpose of spying on them after dark. Now he was going to report to Big Bill Hayes. Bannister was following him to make sure, to learn anything he could. Link’s actions convinced him that Big Bill was aware that he had been hired by Florence Marble. Undoubtedly someone in town had spied on them and had taken the word to Hayes. Then Hayes had sent Link with the note about the cattle and instructions to find out what he could. This last thought brought to Bannister’s mind Florence Marble’s statement about the loss of cattle. It also brought to mind Big Bill Hayes’s accusation the day he had arrived on Marble range, to the effect that Bannister had been looking over the cattle south of the Dome. This was not true, but it served Big Bill with an excuse for chasing him. It was quite evident that the Half Diamond foreman didn’t relish the knowledge that a stranger was about, and didn’t like the idea of a man coming to work on the ranch about whom he knew nothing.

  At the point where the river turned southward below Marble Dome, Link swung north for the cow camp. There was a trickle of stream flowing down from the Dome bordered with willows. Link kept on the west side of this little stream, but Bannister crossed and swept up the east side, thus putting the willows between himself and Link as a partial screen.

  There was still a fire near the cook wagon, and its yellowish eye gleamed steadily as the goal of the two riders. Cattle were bedded down on the plain about the Dome. Bannister saw the dark mass of the big herd that was being held east of the Dome, and, when he was a scant two hundred yards from the camp on the other side of the stream, he checked his horse and dismounted. On the ground he was well concealed by the willows. He hurried upstream afoot until he was directly opposite the fire. Here he found the willows cut away and a wide, worn trail leading across the brook. It had been dammed just below the trail to provide water for horses and the other stock.

  Bannister crossed on the upper side and peered through the willows. Most of the men were already in their bedrolls, asleep on the plain after the long, strenuous hours of work. The s
mall, bowlegged figure of Link was silhouetted against the dying flare of the flames. He had evidently turned his horse over to the night hawk and now was drinking coffee out of a huge tin cup and eating a fat sandwich. Big Bill Hayes towered over him. The cook was moving about and a trio of cowpunchers were squatting near the fire.

  As he looked upon this familiar scene, Bannister saw Link and Hayes leave the fire and walk toward him. They paused halfway between the brook and the cook wagon and began to talk in low tones. Bannister strained his ears but could catch nothing but a faint mumble of their voices, except once or twice when one or the other of the two men swore. Unable to make out a word of their serious conversation he thrust his head and shoulders through the screen of willows and cupped his hands to his ears. The bank of the little stream was still soft from the overflow from the spring rains. The smooth soles of Bannister’s riding boots slipped as he leaned forward more and more, and he went down on his knees, crashing among the willows, his boots rattling against pebbles and splashing in the water.

  He didn’t wait for what he knew would follow. As he got to his feet and leaped across the brook, he heard a startled exclamation and the jingle of spurs as Link and his companion ran toward the stream. He dashed down behind the willows on the opposite side toward where he had left his horse. He knew the pair behind him would soon find that there was no horse or steer there and dark suspicion would arise. He wanted no clash this night.

  He found his horse readily enough, caught up the reins, and vaulted into the leather. Then, leaning low in the saddle, he raced down the line of willows with the speed of the wind, crossed the stream near its junction with the river, and streaked westward in the shadow of the trees for the ranch. But, even though he had been unable to make out what Link and Hayes had talked about, Bannister was satisfied that he knew. He had discovered Link’s presence at the window in time to avoid saying too much, and to prevent Florence Marble from saying too much. Therefore he knew just how much Link knew and what the henchman had to tell Big Bill. He knew, too, that this was the pair he would have trouble with on the Half Diamond. And with this conviction in mind he came to a daring decision. As Bannister had told Florence, when he went into danger, he carried danger with him. This time he intended to push the danger on ahead.

  The bunkhouse was dark when he reached the ranch and put up his horse. Light shone in the house, but he didn’t go in. He lighted the lamp in the bunkhouse, chose a bunk, prepared for bed, and, after blowing out the light once more, was sound asleep in a matter of minutes.

  * * * * *

  Bannister was busy at the wash bench at the lower end of the bunkhouse at dawn when he heard a querulous, thin voice, high-pitched, behind him. “Wal, I reckon you’re the new hand the kid mentioned.”

  Bannister turned and looked out from the towel to see a slight figure, a leathery, thin face, wrinkled and lined, pale blue eyes, sparse and tawny mustaches over a wide, thin-lipped mouth. Here was a typical old-timer, if he’d ever seen one. Such a character as is found on every big ranch—good hearted, brimming with reminiscences, proud, aching to show someone his innate generosity. “You hit it first time,” said Bannister with a smile.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” said the old man. “I’m Jeb White. I’ve been with the Half Diamond since Will Marble drove in his first herd of longhorns. That was some spell back. Nobody knows how old I am, because I don’t tell ’em, an’ it’s none of their danged business.”

  “Why, you’re spry as a kid, Jeb,” said Bannister, grinning. “My name’s Bannister. Why am I in luck?”

  “What’s your first name?” Jeb asked, his eyes blinking in the early sunshine.

  “Bob,” was the answer. “Bob Bannister.”

  “Wal, thet’s a good name,” old Jeb decided. “You bet I’m spry. You’re sure goin’ to find out how spry I am right pronto. I’ve got ’em ready for the fire. You an’ me’ll eat ’em. Nobody else is in to the home ranch just now. Trout! Thet’s why you’re lucky. Fresh mountain trout. I rode up an’ catched ’em. Clear to the foothills, walked up- an’ downstream. Thet’s how spry I am. I jest got in, too. Rode ’most all night. Say, you’re a right well set-up young feller, you sure as shootin’ are.”

  “Thanks,” laughed Bannister. “Did you get many trout?”

  “Wal, I got about all I could carry,” Jeb boasted. “The water went down a foot with me haulin’ ’em out. I wish the river’d dried up so’s Cromer couldn’t fill his prairie soup dish up there.”

  Bannister looked around from the cracked mirror, holding a comb in his hand. These old ones were often great sources of information. “Prairie soup dish?” he said. “What’s that?”

  “Wal, Cromer calls it a lake, an’ I suppose thet’s what it is,” grumbled the old man. “Goin’ to fill it up an’ irrigate. All fiddlesticks. He’s hooked Miss Flo an’ a lot of ’em in town an’ around as well as some danged Easterners … wal, it’s all right to hook the Easterners. But I’m ag’in’ the whole proposition. This is stock country. If the Lord had intended it for farms, He’d have stuck in more streams an’ springs an’ saw to it that there was some rain shed when it was needed. Thet’s what. Now Cromer figures he’s goin’ to make the whole thing over. Sufferin’, slimy, spittin’ snakes! He’d never got those water rights an’ done his dastardly promotin’ if Will Marble had been alive.”

  “You don’t like Cromer, I take it,” Bannister ventured, finishing with the comb.

  “No, none a-tall, an’ he’s right well aware of it,” said Jeb with a fierce scowl. “I’m tendin’ the barn here now, but when Cromer comes sneakin’ around, he puts up his own hoss. I’ve taught him thet much. An’ if he gets gay with old Uncle Jeb, I’ll just naterchally fill him fuller of holes than a hunk of Swiss cheese.” His bony right hand dropped to the butt of the ancient weapon at his right.

  Bannister laughed again, but sobered quickly. “Can you keep a secret, Jeb?” he asked.

  “I kin thet,” declared the old man. “I’ve got a few tolerable secrets of my own, an’ a lot of other people’s in my head, an’ none of ’em has ever leaked out yet.”

  “Well, Jeb, I don’t take none to this Cromer, either,” Bannister confessed.

  “You’ve met him, eh? Wal, one look’s enough for them as knows men.” Jeb shook his head ominously. “There’s something wrong with that feller. But he’s tough, they say.”

  They had started for the cook shack around the bunkhouse when Howard came out on the back porch and called to Bannister. The youth walked briskly across the courtyard.

  “Better come on in,” he said, “breakfast is about ready.”

  Bannister saw Jeb’s face cloud with disappointment. “I’m going to take breakfast with Jeb here,” he told the boy. “He’s got some trout and he’s invited me.”

  “They’re all ready for the fire,” said Jeb in a pleading tone. Then, bristling: “I reckon you know I kin cook, Howard, an’ I detest eatin’ alone.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Howard, catching Bannister’s eye. “Was you out ridin’ last night? I missed you?”

  “I went out to make sure that Link had left,” Bannister evaded. “He went back to Marble Dome all right.”

  “An’ he’d better stay there,” Howard growled. “Well, I’ll see you after breakfast.”

  “Was Link down here last night?” Jeb asked as he and his guest entered the cook shack.

  “Yes,” Bannister replied. “Snooping around, clear as I could see.”

  “Wal, thet’s him every time,” said Jeb, busying himself at the stove. “He was born a snooper an’ he’s cultivated snoopin’ ever since. Snake-Eye is what I call him. He lays off me, too. An’ Big Bill does the same. If they get gay around me, I’d just as lief bury a few hot slugs in their gizzards as look at ’em. Snake-Eye’s doin’ some travelin’ lately. I met him ridin’ like a prairie fire for up north toward the soup dish come daylight this mornin’.”

  This casual bit of information was seized upon by Bannister as im
portant. Why should Link be hurrying up to Cromer’s irrigation project?

  “Say, Jeb,” he said suddenly, “is there any kind of a town up there by the soup dish?”

  “They’re buildin’ one,” was the answer. “Got a bunch of shacks up, a lot of tents, an’ some frame buildings. Oh, thet Cromer’s makin’ it look like something, far as it goes. Says he’s goin’ to get a spur from the railroad in an’ sech. Goin to make farmers outta us. Huh! I’d chop both my hands off before I’d take hold of a pair of plow handles.”

  “How far is it up there?” Bannister asked.

  “’Bout twenty miles,” Jeb answered. “Too close. Too danged close. Don’t go near that outfit or you’ll get polluted.”

  Bannister smiled as he sat down at the table to await the breakfast of trout, biscuits, potatoes, and coffee that was nearly ready. A trip up to the project would be his next move, he decided. “Have they named this town?” he queried curiously.

  Old Jeb looked at him fiercely and swore. “Thet’s the worst part of it,” he declared shrilly. “He had the gall to call it Marble!”

  Chapter Eight

  Florence Marble sent for Bannister an hour after breakfast. He went around to the front porch at Howard’s suggestion and she invited him into the living room.

  “You rode away last night,” she said without preliminaries. “Did you learn who was listening at the window?”

  “It was that man Link,” he said shortly. “I followed him to make sure he went back to the Dome. He had a private talk with Big Bill Hayes up there. Miss Florence, Hayes doesn’t like the idea of my being on this ranch a little bit. I’d like to know more about him.”

  “Very well, sit down,” she said, taking a chair herself. “I know that Hayes has worked for us a long time. Father kept him on the north range mostly. We call the range north to the irrigation project line the north range, and refer to the range about the Dome and east of it merely as the Dome. Hayes is a rough character . . . a hard man. But when Father died, he was the only choice I had left for foreman after I made Manley manager. As for Link . . . I don’t like him. He’s a gunfighter, but not as bad as that man Le Beck whom Howard had trouble with. I’ve been on the point of telling Manley to discharge Link, but I know it would cause a clash between Manley and Hayes, and I want to avoid that.”