Man of the Desert: A Western Story

by Robert J. Horton

  After supper Hope and Channing went into the living room. Nathan Farman was sitting propped up in bed with a shaded lamp on a small table near his head. He looked keenly at Channing when the latter asked how he was getting along.

  “How long will Brood be laid up?” he asked.

  “Three, four weeks,” replied Channing, taking the chair Hope drew up for him. “He’ll be out too soon, as it is, I reckon.”

  Farman brooded over this. “Funny Mendicott is so anxious to have the ranch deeded over to Brood. Must be Brood stands pretty close to him, or else he’s got him where he wants him.”

  Channing vouchsafed no comment.

  “I cannot understand why he wants the ranch,” Hope put in.

  “I know why he wants the ranch!” exclaimed her uncle. “He wants it because of how it’s situated. It’s away from everywhere an’ everybody. He wants it to house some of his gang in and for a place to keep stolen stock. With Brood running the place as his own, under his own brand, they’d have a fine chance to fatten up the cattle they could steal on the forest reserve range and over on the other side of the range. He wants it bad, that’s certain,” the rancher concluded gloomily.

  “Well, he’ll never get it,” Hope declared.

  “I don’t know,” said Nathan Farman dubiously. “He’s dead set on it, it looks like, and, when he gets dead set on a thing, he keeps his mind on it.”

  “I believe his kidnapping of me was an attempt to bluff you, Uncle,” said Hope. “It seemed serious enough when I was up there, but those things aren’t done these days . . . are they, Mister Channing?”

  “It was done in your case,” said Channing quietly.

  “You don’t know that devil,” said Farman to his niece. “I tell you he won’t stop at anything. He’s got me guessing right now as to what his next move will be. He isn’t fooling.”

  “Why don’t you report the matter to the sheriff at least?” Hope asked.

  Nathan Farman laughed and flashed a significant look at Channing. “Lot of good that would do,” he said. “Mendicott laughs at sheriffs. They don’t even know where his hang-out is up there. From what you’ve told me the outlaws could pick off a million men before the posses could get down that trail. What’s more, Mendicott has friends scattered around to tip him off an’ to lead his pursuers astray. An’ he’ll stand an’ fight. He’s smooth an’ he hasn’t ever learned what the word fear means. Isn’t that so, Channing?”

  “He’s bad medicine,” Channing replied shortly.

  “He’s all of that,” confirmed Farman. “That’s why I don’t see that there’s much use in my trying to hold on to the place. He’s bound to get it some way sooner or later. There was some sense in that letter he dictated, at that.”

  “Why, Uncle,” exclaimed Hope, “you’re not considering selling Rancho del Encanto now?”

  “It might be best,” Farman answered, a look of pain crossing his face. “I hate to do it, but I can’t buck Mendicott. If I stay on here, it’s going to mean trouble from now on. I can see the handwriting on the wall just as plain as if Mendicott had visited me an’ told me so. I’ve got a bullet hole in my side to show he means business. I wouldn’t let McDonald start into the hills after you, for I knew it would do no good. I had to wait. I hate to keep on waiting for him to make new moves.”

  “But, Uncle, if you feel that way about it, we could leave the ranch for a time and come back when matters adjusted themselves.”

  “Come back an’ find him in possession,” said Farman bitterly. “I’d have to sell all my stock to do that, an’ the way the cattle are now, an’ the market, I’d have to shoulder a big loss. I can’t afford it . . . not only on my account, but on yours, Hope. I am going to look after you. There is no one else to do it. Don’t shake your head! I can use my property to benefit who I please, an’ leave it to whom I please when I die. I don’t care so much about myself, but it isn’t safe for you here. If we move, we move for good,” he concluded sternly.

  There were tears in Hope’s eyes as she looked at Channing in appeal.

  “I don’t reckon I’d sell the ranch, Nate,” said Channing.

  “What am I going to do?” the rancher demanded with a helpless gesture.

  “I’d wait and see what turns up,” Channing suggested.

  “An’ maybe when it turns up, it’ll be too late to slide out of it with anything,” Farman pointed out.

  “Just the same, I’d wait,” said Channing, stifling a yawn. “I sure would, Nate.”

  Nathan Farman smiled. “You talk like a man who knew more’n he wanted to put into words,” he accused.

  Channing shrugged. “Maybe I do,” he retorted coolly. “I’m not long on giving advice, but I’m giving you some just the same.”

  This seemed to irritate the rancher. “If you know anything about this deal an’ are minded to be a friend of mine, it’s your place to tell me,” he flared out.

  “If I had put in as much time and hard work as you have to build this place and make it what it is, I wouldn’t let any man’s first move, or second or third moves, run me off,” said Channing crisply.

  “But there’s a girl . . . a blood relative . . . that I want to live with me the rest of my life,” said Farman with heat. “I’m not going to keep her in danger.”

  “Then send her away,” said Channing calmly, “and you stay here.”

  Hope looked at him thunderstruck. “I’ll not go away!” she cried in indignation as soon as she found her voice. “Your first advice was good . . . that we wait, I mean. But Uncle nor anyone else ever could get me to leave here now. I’m going to stay!”

  Channing smiled pleasantly. “You hear that, Nate? Miss Farman has spunk enough to stick it out. Why don’t you do the same?”

  Nathan Farman was frowning. He turned to Hope. “You’ve had a hard day, Hope, child,” he said kindly. “Suppose you run upstairs. I think Missus McCaffy will have a bath ready for you soon. I . . . I want to talk to Channing.”

  “All right, Uncle,” said Hope “but don’t you decide to give up Rancho del Encanto or you’ll break my heart as well as your own.”

  She kissed her uncle, said good night to Channing, and went slowly up the stairs. But she did not go to her room, although she walked to the door. She slipped quietly back to the head of the stairs on tiptoe and listened breathlessly.

  “Channing,” said her uncle slowly, “I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you’ve done for Hope . . . an’ me. I want you to know that I appreciate it. I . . . I can’t tell you how much because I usually say thanks an’ let it go at that, being no great hand with words.”

  “All right,” said Channing easily, “let it go at that. Words are pretty much what you make ’em by the way you say ’em. I’m satisfied.”

  “I am not foolish enough to think you did this altogether on my account,” observed the rancher.

  “Eh?” said Channing. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m an old man,” said Farman, “but I’m not blind. An’ I could always add two an’ two.”

  “You may not be blind, but I reckon you’re getting just a wee bit feeble-minded,” said Channing coldly.

  “No, I’m not, Channing. But we’ll pass over that. You did us a favor an’ I’ve thanked you best I know how. But I’m entitled to know something. How did you happen to be in that place of Mendicott’s?”

  “So you’re angling for information,” said Channing in a tone of ice.

  “Exactly. Information I’m entitled to under the circumstances. I’ve heard some queer things about you, Channing, but I never paid much attention to them. I’m going straight to the point now. Was you a captive in there, same as my niece?”

  “Whether I was or not has nothing to do with what I did,” Channing evaded.

  “But it has something to do with things as they stand now,” said Farman stoutly. “I want you to tell me. Channing, are you mixed up with that Mendicott in any way?”

  “That’s sli
pping ’em in fast,” was Channing’s comment.

  “If you haven’t got anything to do with him, all you’ve got to do is say no,” said Farman sternly.

  “And if I don’t say no, you’ll think the other way,” said Channing with a short, mirthless laugh.

  “It doesn’t leave me any other way to think,” said Farman angrily. “If you’re in with him, how do I know that this isn’t all some kind of a trick? You seem to be happening along in the nick o’ time quite regular. This is serious business. Are you going to answer my questions?”

  “No,” said Channing coldly, “I’m not.”

  “You’re putting yourself in a funny light. I suppose you know that.”

  “I’m not dumb, if I am obstinate,” snapped out Channing.

  Nathan Farman considered. “There’s no use in our arguing about all this,” he said finally. “I’ve got to know where I stand, whether I decide to stay here or not. I’m not askin’ anything unfair of you, Channing. I suppose you could be in with Mendicott an’ still be friendly to us, but I can’t see just how, knowin’ what I do about that fellow.”

  “Then let it stay as it stands,” said Channing.

  “No, I can’t do that,” said Farman soberly. “I have big interests here an’ it isn’t just the ranch an’ the stock. My niece is here. To tell you in so many words, it’s a case of her being herded with somebody she hadn’t ought to be associating with. I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m her uncle an’ I reckon you can see black from white.”

  For some time there was silence. At the head of the stairs Hope put her hands to her throat. It did not seem possible, after all that Channing had done, for him to be anyone but a friend. She thought her uncle was stretching a point too far. She was tempted to go down but restrained herself when she considered how her intervention might appear in Channing’s eyes.

  “I reckon I get what you’re driving at,” said Channing after a time.

  “Well, then, don’t you think it’s your best policy to speak right out?” asked Farman.

  “No, I can’t say as I do,” said Channing in a drawl. “I know my own business, Nate, better than you do, and I know a whole lot more about some things than you do in the bargain.”

  “That’s just it!” thundered the rancher. “You know more’n you’ll tell an’ that leaves me in the dark. I’ve got to be sure, Channing. I’ve got to be sure of everybody that’s around this ranch. If you can’t talk free, you’ll have to leave Rancho del Encanto!”

  “I don’t remember asking permission to stay,” said Channing.

  “If you do ask it, you won’t get it till you’ve come clean!” shouted Farman. “You acted as if you figured on staying, an’ I took it for granted. It looks mighty suspicious to me . . . the way you’re acting, I mean. You’re trying to lord it over me an’ make me accept your advice without giving any reasons. You’ll have to talk right smart or . . .”

  “Or what?” demanded Channing.

  “Or leave the ranch!”

  Channing rose. Hope heard him walking to the front door, caught a glimpse of his face, stern and cold, as he turned toward Nathan Farman with his hand on the knob. “I sent word to Mendicott I’d be here,” he said. “Good night, Nate.” He opened the door quickly and went out.

  Hope went down the stairs. Her hands were trembling and her eyes were wide with distress. She walked slowly to her uncle’s bedside and looked down upon his stern features. He did not seem surprised to see her. He took one of her hands.

  “How could you do it, Uncle?” she said with a catch in her voice. “How could you do it after . . . after . . . ?”

  She dropped upon her knees and buried her face in the counterpane.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  If Nathan Farman was sorry that his temper and his eager solicitude for Hope’s welfare had gotten the better of him in his interview with Channing, he did not show it next morning. He greeted Hope affectionately when she came down and called cheerfully to Mrs. McCaffy to bring him a cup of coffee soon as it was ready.

  McDonald appeared nervous at breakfast. Hope noted it and attributed it to trouble in connection with the work on the ranch. But she was nervous herself. Channing had gone. She had heard him ride away in the night, and her sense of security suffered. She regretted that her uncle had acted as he had. He had ordered Channing off the ranch because he wouldn’t tell him all he knew. He hadn’t told Hope, either. But he had kept his word with her and she felt, under the circumstances, that her uncle should have had more faith in him. Certainly he was for them and against Brood, so far as the former foreman was concerned. He had stopped the sale of the ranch. She wondered why she didn’t tell her uncle of Lillian’s declaration that Channing was the one man in the country Mendicott was inclined to handle cautiously. Even if he were associated with the outlaw chief, he could oppose him in this matter. His very refusal to talk seemed to indicate that such was his position.

  After breakfast Nathan Farman called McDonald in and gave orders that the branding be held up a few days until all the cattle could be gathered on the mesa.

  “I want every head of stock I own in here close,” the rancher commanded.

  McDonald promised to start the general roundup immediately.

  “You’re not getting them together with a view to selling them, are you, Uncle?” Hope inquired anxiously.

  “I don’t know,” Farman confessed. “I’ll have to wait an’ see. But don’t you bother about this business, Hope . . . don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  Despite his confidence and his attempt to reassure her, Hope did not feel that her uncle was coping with the situation properly. Something told her it would require a vast amount of tact to deal with Mendicott and secure a satisfactory adjustment of the trouble. She could not forget the outlaw’s eyes.

  The rancher insisted on getting up this day and Hope and Mrs. McCaffy helped him into a rocking chair and pushed it to the open door leading to the porch. Here he sat, looking out over the lawn and hedges to the mesa where cattle were grazing peacefully.

  Hope helped Mrs. McCaffy with the housework and in the kitchen.

  “Your uncle’s peculiar,” the housekeeper confided to the girl. “He’s always been quick-tempered. I heard him order that man Channing off the ranch last night an’ somehow or other it seemed to me that Channing was holding a card up his sleeve. I can usually read these men pretty close. Anyway, it struck me that way.”

  “Missus McCaffy, do you believe Channing is an outlaw?” asked Hope.

  “Laws, child, I don’t know,” replied the housekeeper. “Maybe he is. He comes an’ goes. I ain’t seen him often. He’s mysterious, sort of. Now take that little shrimp of a Crossley. I can read him like a book. Everything he knows is planted right in plain sight on his face, but Channing’s different.”

  Hope laughed at her reference to the little driver. “You and Jim don’t seem to get along any too well,” she observed.

  “That’s because he’s sassy,” said Mrs. McCaffy. “I won’t stand sass. Lately he’s got worse. Maybe it’s because his arm bothers him. Well . . .”

  The pound of hoofs came to their ears and Hope just had time to walk into the living room to her uncle’s chair when two men flung themselves from their mounts and came up on the porch.

  “What do you want?” demanded Farman without waiting for them to speak.

  “We couldn’t get the notary,” said one of the men. “An’ there didn’t seem to be any need for him right away because Brood is on his back.”

  The speaker stopped talking suddenly as he caught sight of Hope. His eyes bulged and he nudged his companion who also stared.

  “That’s all right,” said Nathan Farman sharply. “I don’t reckon we’ll need any notary now. You can tell Mendicott I said that.”

  Hope pressed her hand on her uncle’s shoulder to caution him. The spokesman of the messengers found his voice and scowled. “You want me to tell the chief you ain’t goin’ to sell the
ranch?”

  “I’m not going to sell it at the present time.” said Farman in a softer tone. “You can tell him that. I’ve got to round up my cattle and find out just what I’ve got. That’ll take time.”

  “All right,” said the man, turning to go. He hesitated with his hand on his horse’s mane. “Maybe the boss’ll take it into his head to come an’ see you himself,” he said with a harsh laugh.

  The two of them mounted their horses and struck out for the trail leading into the foothills.

  “That was a threat, Uncle,” said Hope apprehensively.

  “I know it,” said Farman, “but he had to find out sooner or later.”

  “They’ll go up there and tell Mendicott that I’m back at the ranch,” said Hope in a worried voice.

  “Maybe Channing’s got there ahead of them,” snapped out the rancher.

  “No. I don’t think so. He didn’t ride toward the hills last night.”

  “Did you see him go?” asked Farman in surprise. “Was you watching?”

  “Yes, I was watching. I couldn’t sleep, it had all disturbed me so. I was at the window. He rode down toward the desert.”

  “A blind, maybe,” muttered her uncle. “Swung back around probably. Things aren’t all right with that fellow or he would have talked when I asked him to.”

  “Maybe he has reasons for not wanting to tell all he knows,” Hope was quick to point out.

  “If that’s the case, he’s hand an’ glove with Mendicott,” said Farman grimly. “I might have known it. It explains his comings an’ goings an’ easy life. If he was a prospector, he’d be packin’ some tools, an’ he’d be finding a likely lead once in a while like the rest of ’em. It’s a wonder I didn’t wake up to all this a long time ago.”

  Hope saw it was useless to argue with him, and she realized that she had no very sound foundation for any argument she might put up. But the thought of word reaching the outlaw that she was again at Rancho del Encanto worried her. She couldn’t get the memory of those beady black eyes out of her mind. She could see him sitting under the lamp, looking at her; she could hear his smooth voice telling her that he had ordered a man shot. The sound of that shot still rang in her ears. And Channing was gone.