`Which direction were they comin' from when you first saw 'em?' he asked.
`West,' the rider said, adding, `Must 'a' taken a helleva road round if they were from the S P.'
Cullin dismissed him, and then tried to puzzle it out. The only conclusion he came to was that it required attention. Accordingly, in the morning, he journeyed--not unwillingly--to the S P, but instead of going to the ranch-house he swung off into the brush, and waited until he saw the man he wanted. A whistle brought Sturm to him--they had met there before.
`Mornin',' Cullin greeted. `Cattle still strayin'?' with an emphasis on the last word.
`Over a hundred head--it's that simple you can skin the range if you want.'
`I don't. Any more news?'
`That Yorky kid was showin' Green around day afore yestiddy,' Sturm replied. `I saw 'em start an' that's all any of us did see; the boy showed up agin at night--alone.'
As the rancher rode back to approach the house in the usualway, his brain was busy with this piece of information. Green was an experienced cowboy, and would know about trailing cattle. He had spent a whole day looking over a range the like of which he must have seen on scores of occasions. In the circumstances, Bardoe's men would hardly trouble about leaving tracks. It was all plain: Drait had the stolen steers in Shadow Valley. A Satanic smile distorted his lips; the nester had handed him the winning card.
The girl's welcome seemed less cordial than usual, and though the possibility angered him, there was no sign of it. After a compliment on her appearance, he asked casually, `Have you been partin' with cows lately?'
The question rubbed a sore spot. Sudden's failure to run down the raiders had been a sharp disappointment, and Mary had a vision of continued losses, and an end to her hopes of making the S P a success.
`Yes,' she replied ruefully. `Parting with them, but not willingly; they've been spirited away--in the night.'
`My, that's tough,' he said, in a shocked tone. `Lost many?' `More than five score, Sturm estimates.'
`I'm terribly sorry. The rustler is the bane o' the cattle busi- ness; there's on'y one cure--the rope. I'd hang every one caught with the goods.'
He spoke with vehemence, and the girl, smarting under her sense of loss, was disposed to agree. `I hate violence, but crime must be checked, and certainly these wretches deserve no mercy,' she said.
`Come for a ride,' he suggested, and when she was about to refuse, added, `I've somethin' to show you.'
He took her in a westerly direction, away from his own range. After nearly an hour, they reached a line of high bushes, pierced here and there with grotesquely-shaped spires and pinnacles of stone which appeared oddly familiar.
`We have a few yards to walk now,' Cullin told her.
He went ahead, making a path for her, paused, and pointed to a sapling. Put an arm round that and look down,' he said, drawing aside a branch.
`Why, this is Shadow Valley!' she cried.
`True'. What do you see down there?'
`Only cattle grazing.'
He passed her a pair of binoculars. `Try these.'
She did so, and the powerful lenses seemed to fling the nearest cow in her face. On its rump were the letters S P--her own brand. Wonderingly she directed the glasses to others of the herd; all bore the same mark. She turned to her companion.
`What does it mean?'
`I can't say. By chance I learned that over a hundred head, wearing yore iron, had been driven into the Valley yesterday evenin', an' when you told me you hadn't sold any, I guessed you oughta know about it.'
`Thank you,' she said, her face like pale marble, and returned the binoculars.
`Look again, an' make sure,' he urged. `Mebbe there's just a few strays.'
`I saw several dozen of my three-year-olds, picked animals,' she replied harshly. `I wouldn't have believed a man could stoop so low.'
`It looks bad, but seems incredible,' Cullin mused. `I wish I could help you.'
The ride to the S P was made in silence, and Cullin was content it should be so. He had sown the seed; solitude, and the outraged pride of a woman would bring fruition. When they reached the ranch, she did not invite him to remain. He played the hypocrite once more.
`Don't think too hardly of Nick,' he begged. `This is a lawless land, an' he is hot-blooded, impulsive--'
`It was a mean, cruel act,' she interrupted icily, and then her voice broke a little. `He could have had them for the asking.'
With these words ringing in his ears, he went away. Somehow, he did not quite like the sound of them, but he had done a good morning's work, and things were going well.
The girl he had left was far from sharing his satisfaction. Puzzled, angry, and utterly miserable, she sought her bedroom, to be alone her one desire. Her husband had behaved vilely, Green and Yorky had helped him. In all the world she had no one to whom she could turn for aid or counsel. Cullin had been kind--even to the point of pleading for the offender; he seemed to be her only friend. To confide in Lindy would be useless; the black woman would not hear a word against `Massa Nick.'
Why had he done it? she asked, over and over again, and always it was the same answer: because of a ruthless, masterful nature which took what it wanted, regardless of who might suffer.
Another explanation suggested itself. Drait resented her taking charge of the S P, and this was his revenge--the planning of a humiliating failure which would drag her pride in the dust, and bring her to him, disillusioned, begging for aid. Instinctively she looked at the portrait on the wall, and in the hard eyes and grim lips read a message : `Fight.' As though she had actually heard the word, she replied : `Yes, you had troubles too,and fought them. I am of your blood. If Drait has done this despicable deed, he shall answer for it.'
**
On leaving the S P Cullin had ridden at a sharp pace to the 8 B, the owner of which welcomed him with a grin.
"Lo, Greg, I shore hope you've fetched yore roll along; I got a li'l bill for you.'
`You don't have to worry,' the visitor returned. `What's the tally so far, an' where are they?'
`Six score, an' they're in the Devil's Pocket.'
`I'll stake the amount I owe you they ain't.'
Bull's glance was one of suspicion. `If you've fetched 'em away--' he began.
`Don't talk foolish,' Cullin said. `In the first place I didn't want 'em--yet; in the second, I'd no notion where yore cache was; in the third, I shouldn't 'a' taken 'em to Shadow Valley.'
Bardoe's eyes oulged. `Shadow Valley? What'n hell they doin' there?'
`Grazin', I shouldn't wonder,' Cullin replied. He liked to irritate, and the other's volley of oaths merely amused him. `Drait an' his men drove 'em in yesterday.'
`How'd they know where to look?'
`Green an' his young friend trailed you, is my guess.'
Bull damned the pair at length--he could see his li'l bill becoming waste paper; Greg Cullin was not the roan to pay for nothing. For once he was mistaken. The rancher must have divined his thought, for producing a big wad of currency, he pushed a portion of it across the table.
`I'm payin' just the same,' he said. `It so happens that Drait has stepped right into the loop that's goin' to hang him.' The rustler pouched the money. `How come?'
`You wouldn't care to be found with stolen stock in yore possession, I expect,' Cullin replied ironically.
`By God, yo're right, an' o' course, he stole 'em straight from the S P.'
`He an' his men'll tell a different tale, but who's goin' to swallow it? Besides, he could 'a' hidden 'em in the Pocket; found there, he'd never oe suspected, but you would.'
Bardoe scowled. `That's so. Allasame, I owe Green somethin'.'
`Better let the debt run--Finger-shy was no slouch,' Cullin reminded drily. 'Listen: the sheriff will pull Drait in tomorrow mornin' an' shove him in the calaboose to await trial. Now, in case the girl turns soft, I want her out o' the way till the whole affair is over, an' that's where you come in. Get the idea?'
&nb
sp; `I'm to carry her off an' keep her hid,' Bardoe said.
`It's a pleasure to work with you,' Cullin complimented. `Where can you take her?'
`My cabin on Black Ridge, the other side o' the Big Quake. She'll be safe enough--ain't many know of it.'
The Big C man nodded. He had seen the place, an extensive and wide strip of morass which had proved a death-trap to many hundreds of cattle. An expanse of brilliant green, dotted with tussocks of coarse grass and reeds, it appeared innocent enough. But the pressure of a foot brought the moisture squelching up, and to stand still even on the brink for a few moments was to court disaster.
`It must be done tonight,' Cullin went on. `In a little while, when Drait has been dealt with, I shall discover where she is and rescue her, payin' you a ransom of three thousand dollars.'
Bardoe was too cunning to jump at the proposition. `I shall have to split with my fellas,' he objected.
`You won't need many--Sturm an' his crew will be out on the range watchin' for rustlers, so you'll have a clear field. There must be no violence; if the girl is hurt in any way, payment will be in--lead.'
`Ain't threatenin' me, are you, Greg?' Bull fleered. `Be easy, I'll take care o' yore ladylove, an' mebbe shake a leg at yore weddin'.'
But when the Big C owner was receding in the distance, he shook a fist instead, and growled, `Damned mongrel. Lead, huh? You'll settle in gold, my friend, an' I'll fix the figure; the S P, with the dame thrown in, is worth a lot more'n three thousand.'
Chapter XIX
AT the Big C, Cullin bolted a meal, saddled a fresh mount, and hastened to Midway. Camort, lolling drowsily in his office, woke with a start when the great man entered.
"Lo, Greg, anythin' new?' he enquired.
`Yeah, we've got him.'
`Meanin'?'
Cullin swore impatiently. `That infernal nester, o' course. Where are yore wits?'
The sheriff smothered a sigh; he was rather weary of battling against the `infernal nester.' With a dubious expression, he remarked, `That jasper's as hard to hold as a greased rattler, an' as dangerous.'
`Don't talk like a weak-kneed quitter,' Cullin snapped, and proceeded to explain the situation. Camort brightened visibly. `It shore does seem we got him where the hair's short,' he admitted. `But if the gal lets us down....'
`She won't appear a-tall--I'm arrangin' that. Yo're actin' on a complaint about the rustlin' an' request for the punishment o' the culprits, received from her.'
`I ain't' the sheriff commenced, but got no farther.
`Don't be dumb,' Cullin said angrily. `Her protest was made to me, an' I'm handin' it on; she won't be there to deny it. In any case, you have yore duty to do.'
`Shore,' the officer smirked. `What she wants don't really matter--the welfare o' the public comes first.'
`Quite, but keep that admirable sentiment for the court. You will arrest Drait in the mornin', lock him up, an' see he stays that way. If he gets out, you'd better climb a tree, tallest you can find.'
`S'pose he resists?'
`Six o' my outfit'll be in town; you can use 'em. I don't fancy he'll fight, but if he does, it's yore duty to get him--dead or alive. Understand?'
`You bet. I'd rather hang him, but I ain't one to think o' my own pleasure.'
Cullin's next call was on the Judge, and again the position was set forth. Towler's fear of the rancher exceeded his dislike, but he had no affection for the nester either, so he readily promised to do his part.
`Within the Law, Mister Cullin,' he said. `Strictly inside the bounds of my office.'
`Of course, Judge,' Cullin smiled. `Have I ever asked you to do otherwise?'
`No, sir, you knew that such a request would be futile. This trouble-maker appears to have so acted that the Law can now deal with him--effectively.'
`Well, it's up to you an' the sheriff. I don't think he can wriggle out as he did last time.'
The reminder was unnecessary, the Judge had not yet forgotten the fiasco of the former trial. He frowned and said :
`We will endeavour to see he does not, sir,' which was the assurance the visitor wanted.
Midnight was near when a rider with a led horse paced noiselessly up to the S P ranch-house, dismounted, and dropped the reins, leaving the animals a few yards from the building. He had already ascertained that only one light was showing--from the parlour. Cat-footed, he stepped on the veranda and peered through the glass door. The girl he had come to find had fallen asleep over the fire, an account book lay on the floor beside her. He noted, with satisfaction, that her hat and coat were on another chair; this simplified matters. Pulling his own hat well over his eyes, and covering the lower portion of his face with his neckerchief, he stepped inside.
`Keep yore tongue still an' you won't be hurt,' he said, in a low tone.
Mary awoke with a jerk, made to rise, and sank back again as she saw the muzzle of a six-shooter within a few inches of her face.
`What do you want?' she managed to whisper.
`Obedience, just that,' was the reply. Put yore things on. We're goin' for a ride, an' remember, one scream'll be yore last.' She knew it was useless to resist. Lindy would be snoring, Milton, in his little shack next the kitchen, would hear nothing, and Sturm had told her that the men would be out on the range till dawn.
When she was ready, he motioned her to the door, turned out the lamp, and followed; she felt the barrel of the weapon against her spine. They reached the horses, mounted, and set off, the man still holding the lead-rope. Almost at once, four riders emerged from the shadows and fell in behind them.
It was very dark, the few stars, pin-points of light in the sky, seeming only to increase the gloom. Mary could form no idea as to the direction in which they were travelling, but from the fact that progress was slow, and frequent turns necessary to avoid black masses of foliage, she guessed they were breaking a new trail through the brush.
The captive, tired and despondent, rode like one in a dream, holding the reins slackly, and making no attempt to guide the beast she bestrode. Fortunately the animal was docile, sure-footed, and the shapeless dark bulk beside her was watchful. She was almost sure this was Bardoe, and the possibility filled her with dismay; she had heard much about him since their first meeting, none of it to his credit.
She became aware that he was speaking: 'Too damned dark to risk the Quake tonight, boys. Have to ride around her. Better be safe than sorry.'
`Yo're whistlin', Boss,' one of the men agreed.
`Shore is one hell of a place,' the leader remarked. `I hate crossin' it; one wrong step an' it's--curtains.'
The dreary miles dropped behind, and then Mary became aware that they were climbing, and that the stars were no longer visible. Also, the riders had strung out in single file. She surmised, correctly, that they were mounting a narrow pathway through a forest. The air grew colder, and there was a breeze which increased as they mounted higher. Then she saw a light, and one of the men said fervently:
`Home, sweet home, boys, an' I hope to Gawd grub's ready.' `Well, here we are,' the leader remarked, as he drew rein opposite the light, which proved to be an open door.
Mary got down, so stiff and fatigued that she would have fallen had he not placed an arm about her. Instantly, she straightened and recoiled.
`I'm all right,' she said.
`You done noble,' he replied gruffly. `There's warmth an' food waitin'.'
`I need sleep--that only. Where is my--prison?'
He conducted her to a small room, with a floor of bare boards, and an unglazed window only a cat could get through. The candle he lighted brought to view a pile of blankets on a pallet bed, a chair, pail of water, and a torn but clean towel. On one of the log walls a cracked mirror was hanging.
`Rough quarters, ma'am, but we'd little time,' the man said. `I ain't tyin' you up, but remember that the Quake lies between here an' the S P. The key o' the door will be in my pocket, so you can sleep easy.'
`Why have I been brought here?' she demanded
.
`I dunno,' he lied. `All I can say is that if you make no trouble, you'll meet no trouble.'
The key grated in the lock. She bathed her face, removed hat and coat, spread her blankets, and lay down. Despite her determination to remain awake, she slept.
Bardoe returned to the big room, where, at a long table, the men who had accompanied him were eating, and washing the food down with generous doses of spirit. Four others were smoking round the log fire. One was Gilman, who looked up with a leer.
`So you got her?' he said. `I hear she was dressed ready, too. Yo're allus lucky.'
`Lucky?' chimed in Lamond from the table. `An' Bull all fixed to play the part o' lady's maid.'
Some of them laughed, but their leader's face was mirthless. `Beau, I hate to tell a man he's a damn fool twice in one night,' he said, and looked at Gilman. `The girl's got grit; that ride would 'a' taxed a man some, but she never let out a squeak.'
`Hell, Bull, whatsa use gittin' sore over the dame? Drait's no saint, an' it wouldn't surprise me if she's feelin' lonely.'
Bardoe whirled on him, ferocity in every feature. `Listen to me,' he barked. `If I catch anyone near the gal's door I'm shootin' first an' enquirin' after. Get me?' His threatening gaze swept the room. `A complaint from her an' Cullin'll go back on his bargain, an' we'll have a battle with the Big C on our hands.'
`Bull's right, boys, as usual,' Lanty put in. `It ain't worth the risk; me for the dollars, every time.'
The muttered agreement appeared to guarantee that the prisoner would be undisturbed, but the leader was taking no chances, and when retired to his own room, he did not sleep. His followers piled fuel on the fire, got their blankets, and made themselves comfortable.
Bardoe, in the darkness, sat listening to the snores which mingled with the crackling of the logs. Presently he caught another sound--stealthy footsteps in the passage. They paused, waited, and then went on. He slipped off his boots, drew his gun, and noiselessly followed. He could hear someone fumbling at the girl's door, seemingly searching for the keyhole. The rustler raised his gun. The report, deafening in the confined space, brought the sleepers from the big room, one of them carrying a blazing brand from the fire.
Sudden Plays a Hand (1950) Page 16
