`Green,' he said. `Meet Mr. Leeming, owner of the Frying Pan. Yu heard he's been raided?'
`Blaynes just said somethin' about it; I ain't got no particulars,' replied the puncher, acknowledging the introduction by a nod at the visitor.
`Night before last it happened. Laid out two o' my outfit, an' got away with about a hundred head,' snapped Leeming. `What yu gotta say about it?'
`Tough luck,' said Green, quietly.
`Tough luck?' vociferated Leeming angrily. `Tough luck? That's a helluva note, ain't it? An' yo're the feller that's agoin' to stop the rustlin', huh? Why, it's been worse'n ever since yu took a hand. Seems to me yu ain't no more use than a busted leg.'-
The cowpuncher's face flushed through the tan, his jaws clenched, and his eyes narrowed as he listened to this tirade. Leeming, still stamping up and down the room, had completely lost control of himself, but the object of his abuse was outwardly calm.
`Yu payin' any o' my wages?' he asked.
Like a shot from a gun the simple question, which put him utterly in the wrong, knocked the irate cattleman off his balance. But he was in too vile a temper to recognise this. `What's that gotta do with it?' he stormed.
`Everythin',' replied the puncher coolly. `There's only one man who has the right to bawl me out if I don't do my work an' that's the man who pays me.'
The words were spoken evenly and without a trace of passion, but there was a deadly meaning in the low voice. Leeming stopped his perambulations and looked at him.
`Well, I'm damned if yu ain't got yore nerve,' he said. `For two bits I'd...'
Green slipped his hand into his pocket, produced the coins named and laid them on the table without a word. No challenge could have been more plainly given. Leeming's face became suffused with blood, but before he could speak, Old Simon interposed :
`That's enough,' he said brusquely. `Job, yu gotta remember that yu are in my house, an' speakin' no one o' my outfit, an' I won't stand for it nor ask him to. If yu don't ride that temper o' yores it's goin' to thow yu bad one o' these days.'
For a moment the angry man looked madder than ever and then all at once his face changed and he laughed aloud. `Sorry, Simon,' he said. `Yo're right. I'm a plain damn fool to go off the handle like this. No offence meant to either o' yu. It's my beast of a temper--can't help it--always had it--my old folks used to say that I cussed my nurse before I had any teeth. The Frying Pan boys understand--they just let me shoot off my mouth, an' laugh behind my back, damn rascals.' He looked at Green. `No hard feelin's, I hope?'
`None here,' replied the puncher, with a smile.
And indeed, the change about was so sudden and complete that it could not be otherwise than amusing. Yet one could sense that it was not in any way due to cowardice; Leeming had plenty of pluck and would have pulled his gun and shot it out with the cowboy just as cheerfully as he apologised, and Green understood this, and respected the owner of the Frying Pan the more for it.
`Well, that's all right,' said Simon, obviously relieved at the way things had come out. `Tell him about it, Job.'
Leeming told the story of the raid and Green listened in silence until he had finished. Then came a question.
`Yu say they headed north-east for Big Chief? Then they must 'a crossed the Y Z near the line-house.' He turned to Simon. `Do yu happen to know which of our boys were there night before last?'
`I asked Blaynes the same thing, an' he said Durran an' Nigger--two experienced men,' he explained to Leeming. `I've met 'em,' said Job in a non-committal tone.
`An' yore foreman lost the trail on Sandy Parlour?' pursued the cowpuncher.
`Yes, an' he's a good trailer too, but a desert an' Injuns is a strong combination.'
`Yu can cut out the redskins--they ain't nothin' to do with yore losin' cattle.'
`But my boys saw 'em, an' that arrow through Lucky's shoulder ain't no dream,' protested the cattleman.
'Green reckons it's whites pretendin' to be Injuns to razzle-dazzle us,' explained Simon. `It shore would be an easy play to make.'
`I ain't reckonin', I know it's so,' the puncher said, `but I'm not advertisin' it.'
`Shore,' agreed Leeming. `Anythin' else yu can tell us?'
The other shook his head. `Can't prove nothin',' he said. `Soon as I've got the goods I'll put my cards on the table. All I'm shore of at present is that it ain't just a small gang liftin' a few cows now an' then; they are organised, and there's a big man somewhere pullin' the strings.'
`What makes yu think that?' asked Simon.
`Just one or two things I happened to overhear,' was the reply. `Yu shore o' yore outfit?'
The question was addressed to the owner of the Frying Pan, and he was quick to answer it. `I'll go bail for every one,' he said confidently. `Are yu suggestin'?'
`I'm only askin',' replied Green. `I don't know any of 'em, an' even in the best o' ropes there may be a weak strand. What's yore opinion o' Dexter, of the Double X?'
`Don't like him--dunno why, but I don't,' was the blunt reply. `Yu got anythin' on him?'
`No,' Green had to confess, `but it was some of his men hung me over the cliff--yu heard o' that--joke, I reckon?'
`Shore, an' o' the one yu played on Snub in return,' laughed Leeming. `Silas told me he never saw a man imitate a chunk o' rock as well as Snub did while yu was shavin' his upper lip for him.'
`He did stand awful still, for a fact,' responded the puncher, a twinkle of devilment in his eyes at the memory. `Two more o' that outfit bush-whacked Lunt.'
This was news to the Frying Pan owner. `The hell they did?' he said. `They musta felt pretty shore o' gettin' him; Snap's hands are jest about a shade quicker'n my temper, an' I can't say more than that. What are they after him for?'
`I dunno, but it looks like some of us ain't wanted around here,' Green replied. `Me, I'm aimin' to stay, just the same.' When he had gone, Simon turned to his visitor and said, `How does he strike yu?'
`Well, I'd sooner have him with than against me,' was Job's verdict. `Know anythin' about him?'
`Not a darn thing,' said Simon. `Barton fetched him along after he'd beat up Poker Pete most to death. Said he was huntin' a job. He certainly is wise to his work, but I can't place him. Blaynes thinks he might be in with the rustlers.'
`Which just means that yore foreman don't like him,' said Leeming shrewdly.
`And who is it that our respected foreman does not approve of?' asked a fresh young voice.
`Hello, Miss Norry,' cried Job heartily, turning round to shake hands with the girl. She had just come in from a ride, and her flushed cheeks, dancing eyes, and trim figure were good to look upon. `Hang me if yu don't get prettier every time 1 see yu. When are yu comin' to take charge at the Frying Pan, eh?'
It was an old joke between them. Leeming, a confirmed bachelor, always protested that he was so solely on account of Noreen.
`Not until I'm no longer wanted at the Y Z,' she laughed and added saucily, `I should be afraid of your dreadful temper.' `I've lost it, Norry,' Leeming said.
`What, again?' retorted the girl merrily, and then, `But you haven't answered my question.'
`We were talkin' o' the new hand, Green,' Job explained. `What's yore opinion of him?'
`Since he came to my help when I was in danger, I am naturally prejudiced,' the girl replied soberly. `I think he's a good man. And now, if you two have done talking secrets, I expect supper is about ready. As Cookie says down at the bunkhouse, "Come an' git it."'
Chapter X
VISITORS to Hatchett's Folly were rare and therefore mostly welcome; visitors with plenty of money to spend were rarer still and correspondingly more welcome. So that when Mr. Joe Tarman and his friend and companion, Mr. Seth Laban, rode in, they had no cause to complain of their reception. The first-named, in fact, would have been well received anywhere, for he bore every appearance of prosperity, and he radiated with generosity, thus capturing every loafer in the town at a blow.
He was a big fellow, standing ov
er six feet, with a broad, well-muscled frame denoting strength above the average even for men of his height, and he was still on the right side of forty. His hair, eyebrows, and carefully-trimmed beard were deep black and gave him a striking appearance. A captious critic might have suggested that the face was too fleshy and the rather small eyes too close together, but ninety-nine women out of every hundred would have voted Joe Tarman a very handsome man.
In this he differed entirely from his companion; Seth Laban could have no such pretensions. He was a slight man of between forty and fifty, with a pronounced stoop which made him appear shorter than he really was. He had a long nose, receding forehead and chin, and small eyes, a combination which produced a rodent-like impression. Believers in the Buddhist theory of the transmigration of souls have said that his previous existence must have been that of a rat, while others, of a less charitable nature, might have held that he was still a rat, and would not have been too wide of the mark at that.
This curiously assorted couple, having installed themselves at the hotel, at once gravitated to the Folly, followed by a number of the inhabitants..Tarman, having introduced himself and his companion no the bartender, at once struck the right note by ordering drinks for nhe crowd. He made no secret of his object in coming to Hatchett's.
`Stayin' long?' asked Silas.
`All depends,' said the big man. `I'm just havin' a look around. Heard this was good cattle country, an' came along. Cows is where T live; I've handled a few in my time, eh, Seth?'
`I reckon,' replied Laban, following the words with the disruption of his features which did duty with him as a smile. `It's good cattle-land all right, but pretty well covered,' returned Silas. `I ain't heard as any o' the owners want to sell.' `They'd better sell while the sellin's good; they won't have nothin' left soon,' sniggered one of the crowd.
`How comes that?' asked the visitor.
`Rustlers,' was the laconic answer.
Tarman laughed. `I've handled a lot o' rustlers in my time too, eh, Seth?'
`I reckon,' came the reply, with the same parody of smile.
`I've got a shore cure for rustlin',' the big man went on. `Yes, gents, a shore cure--never known it to fail; a rope an' a branch --that's a combination that'll bean Mr Rustler every time.'
`Yu gotta catch 'em first,' said the man who had spoken before. `Injuns is tricky, an' so is the blame country round here.' `I got no use for Injuns, not noways,' chimed in another. `Well, I wouldn't go so far as that,' smiled Tarman. `There's been times when I've found 'em useful, eh, Seth?'
`I reckon,' came the inevitable reply.
The discussion became general but Tarman now took little part in it; he was looking through the open door of the saloon, intent on something taking place on the far side of the dusty street. He saw a girl sitting her pony easily, cowboy fashion, that is, almost standing in the stirrups. In her neat shirt-waist, divided skirt, trim high boots, and soft sombrero looped up at one side she was, in Western idiom, `easy to look at.' She was talking to a tall cowboy who stood beside her, hat in hand, with the reins of his mount--a magnificent roan--looped over his arm. Already Tarman had decided that he wanted both the girl and the horse.
`Who's the lady?' he asked of Silas, nodding his head towards the street.
Norry Petter, daughter of Old Simon of the Y Z,' replied the barman. `Feller she's talkin' to is one o' the outfit--name o' Green--ain't been about here long.'
The big man's features betrayed no particular interest in the information. `She's a good-looker,' he said. But his eyes could not keep away from the door-opening.
Meanwhile the pair outside continued their conversation, quite unconscious of the interest being taken in them. Noreen had not known that the puncher was in town until she saw him standing by the roan opposite the saloon. For a moment she contemplated riding past winh just a nod of recognition, and then, with a little frown of determination, she reined in and smiled a greeting. Green, who had not failed to note the hesitation, removed his hat and grinned quizzically.
`Why didn't yu?' he asked.
`Why didn't I what?' she parried, though she knew what he meant.
`Ride past without seein' me,' he said.
The girl flushed. `I never dreamt of doing that,' she protested. `At first I wasn't going to stop because...' She paused, and then added, `Some sneak saw us the day you carried me up the cliff, and told Daddy we'd been riding together; he was rather upset.'
`Didn't like the idea o' yu bein' too friendly with a common cowboy, I s'pose,' Green said, with a perceptible tinge of bitterness in his tone.
`No, it wasn't that,' she said quickly. `Why, Daddy was a cowboy once himself, and what he said applied to all the outfit.'
`An' I'm bettin' that he pointed out that I ain't handed in any account o' my life an' adventures,' Green hazarded gravely, but wint twinkling eyes.
The girl laughed gaily, glad that the hurt had passed. `He did suggest that we don't know much about you,' she admitted. `Of course, he didn't know that you had come to my rescue again.'
`An' I don't want that he should; I'm askin' yu to forget it too,' said the puncher quickly. Will yu?'
She shook her head. `I don't forget services,' she replied. `Some day I shall tell him, and he won't forget it either. Dear old Daddy, he's only thinking of me and you mustn't "hold it against him," as Larry would say.'
`Yore father is dead right,' the man said, and there was a look in his eyes she had never seen there before, which quickened her pulses and made her turn her head away. To hide her confusion, she leant forward and stroked the roan's neck with her gloved hand.
`Isn't he a beauty?' she said. `I hope you haven't taken all the spirit out of him.'
`Oh, he still gets notions,' laughed the puncher. `He knows me an' we get along fine, but I doubt if anyone else could ride him. Larry tried the other day an' didn't last a minute; he's a good horseman, too.'
At this point the conversation was interrupted. Across from the door of the saloon came Tarman, accompanied by Rayne, the keeper of the hotel, whom Noreen had known for years. He greeted her with a wave of the hand.
`Mornin', Miss Norry,' he said. `Want yu to meet Mr. Joseph Tarman, a visitor to our litnle town.'
The girl held out her hand frankly and the big man bowed over it with rather a flourish, and said: `I'm askin' yu to excuse my buttin' in like this, Miss Noreen, but when yu were pointed out to me I felt I had to make acquaintance as quickly as possible. I'm hopin' to pay yore father a visin right soon.'
His bold eyes took in every detail of her as she sat there, and her first impression was one of revolt against the possessive air he radiated.
`My father, I am sure, will be pleased to see you,' she said. `Not so pleased as I'll be,' Tarman responded heartily. `An' the first thing I'm goin' no ask him is what price he'll take for that roan there which I see carries his brand, an' which--with one exception--has taken my fancy more than anythin' I ever set eyes on.'
He smiled broadly as he spoke, showing his strong white teeth, and the girl, country-bred as she was, could not fail to understand that he was paying her what he considered to be a compliment.
`That horse is not my father's property although it bears our brand,' she said coldly. `In belongs to this gentleman.'
She indicated Green, who was quietly waiting until the interrupted conversation could be resumed. Tarman turned a somewhat insolent gaze upon the cowboy.
`Give yu a hundred dollars for the hoss,' he said.
`No,' was the curt reply.
Two hundred,' and when the cowboy shook his head, `Three hundred.'
Several of the onlookers gasped, and gazed enviously upon the owner of the coveted animal. In a land where even good horseflesh was cheap, the price offered was excessive. `Cripes! Wish I owned that hoss,' murmured one thirsty soul, visioning the number of drinks to be obtained for three hundred dollars.`Betcha a dollar he takes it.' His neighbour had been watching the cowboy closely. `Take yu,' he said instantly. He had
but spoken when Green looked the would-be purchaser calmly in the face, and said:
`The hoss is not for sale.'
For a moment Tarman was nonplussed; he had felt confident that a sum more than equal to seven months' pay would tempt a cowhand to part with even a favourite mount: But he would not give in. It was his boast that he always got what he went after, and realising that mere money would not do it, he tried something else.
`See here,' he said. `Cowboys is reckoned to be good sports. Now I'll put up four hundred 'gainst the hoss an' play yu for him--any game yu like. What about it?'
`I ain't playin' for nor sellin' the hoss,' Green replied, `but'--and his voice had a rasp in it as he marked the growing sneer on the other's lips--`I'll give him to yu if yu can stay on him for five minutes by the clock.'
From the spectators of the scene came a murmur of applause, born of the instinctive loyalty for one's home town which remains in a man after he has lost almost everything else. The stranger might be all that he seemed, but public favour was, for the moment anyway, on the side of the cowboy. He had met the challenge with a sporting offer which not only promised excitement but reflected credit upon the community at large. Bets were bandied about at once, for the reputation of the roan was known, and the offer was one the visitor could hardly refuse. He had no intention of doing so.
`I'll go yu,' he laughed, `but as I don't take gifts from strangers, if I win--an' I've never seen anythin' on four legs that I couldn't ride--yu must accept the price I offered, three hundred for the hoss.'
`As yu like,' said the puncher indifferently.
Immediately the crowd, which now included nearly every male inhabitant, surged back to the sidewalks and occupied the doorways, leaving the street empty save for the horse, Green, who held it, and the newcomer. The fortunate few who possessed watches got them out in readiness to time the contest; those with money were eagerly endeavouring to place bets.
`Think yore friend'll make it?' asked one of Laban.
Sudden The Range Robbers (1930) s-9 Page 10
