The dog lay panting and occasionally pawing at his collar.
"What's the matter? Cockle-burr?" And Wingle ran his fingers under the collar. "So? Playin' mail-man, eh?"
He spread out the note and read it. Slowly he straightened up and slowly he walked to the bunk-house. "No. Guess I'll tell Jack first."
He strode to the office and laid the note on Corliss's desk. The rancher, busy running up totals on the pay-roll, glanced at the sweat-stained piece of paper. He read it and pushed it from him. "All right, Hi."
Wingle hesitated, then stepped out and over to the bunk-house. "Takes it mighty cool! Wonder what he's got up his sleeve. Somethin'—sure!"
Corliss studied the note. Then he reached for paper and envelopes and wrote busily. One of the letters was to the sheriff in Antelope. It was brief.
I'm going to push a bunch of stock over to the water-hole range. My boys have instructions not to shoot. That's the best I can do for them and the other side. JOHN CORLISS.
The other letter was to Nell Loring. Then he rose and buckled on his gun. At the bunk-house he gave the letters to Lone Johnny, who saddled and departed immediately.
Without making the contents of the note known, he told the men that they would join Bud Shoop and his outfit at the Knoll and push the herd north. Later he took Wingle aside and told him that he could stay and look after the rancho.
The indignant Hi rolled down his sleeves, spat, and glared at Corliss. "I quit," he snapped. "You can hire a new cook."
Despite his preoccupation Corliss smiled. "All right, Hi. Now that you're out of a job, you might saddle up and ride with us. We'll need some one to keep us good-natured, I reckon."
"Now you're whistlin'!" said Wingle. "Got a gun I can use? I give mine to Sundown."
"There's one over in the office on the desk. But we're going to push the herd over to the water-hole. We're not going there to fight."
"Huh! Goin' to be quiet, eh? Mebby I better take my knittin' along to pass the time."
And Wingle departed toward the office. Rejoining Corliss they rode with the men to the Knoll. Bud Shoop nodded gravely as his employer told him of Loring's occupation of the west bank of the river. Then the genial Bud rode over to the herd that was bunched in anticipation of just such a contingency as had developed. "It's a case of push 'em along easy—and all night," he told his men. "And if any of you boys is out of cartridges there's plenty in the wagon."
John Corliss rode with his men. He told them to cut out any stray Two-Bar-O stock they saw and turn them back. Toward evening they had the cattle in motion, drifting slowly toward the north. The sixteen riders, including Corliss and Wingle, spread out and pushed the herd across the afternoon mesas. The day was hot and there was no water between the Knoll and Sundown's ranch. Corliss intended to hold the cattle when within a mile of the water-hole by milling them until daylight. When they got the smell of water, he knew that he would not be able to hold them longer, nor did he wish to. He regretted the fact that Chance was running with him, for he knew that Loring's men, under the circumstances, would shoot the dog if they had opportunity.
Toward evening the outfit drew up in a draw and partook of a hearty supper. The cattle began to lag as they were urged forward, and Chance was called into requisition to keep after the stragglers. As the herd was not large,—in fact, numbered but five hundred,—it was possible to keep it moving steadily and well bunched, throughout the night.
Within a short mile of the water-hole the riders began to mill the herd.
Bud Shoop, riding up to Corliss, pointed toward the east. "Reckon we can't hold 'em much longer, Jack. They're crazy dry—and they smell water."
"All right, Bud. Hold 'em for fifteen minutes more. Then take four of the boys with you and fan it for the road. You can cache in that draw just north of the water-hole. About sunup the herd'll break for water. Loring's outfit will be plenty busy on this side, about then. If he's got any gunmen handy, they'll be camped at the ranch. Chances are that when the cattle stampede a band or two of sheep, he'll turn his men on us. That's your time to ride down and take possession of the ranch. Most likely you won't have to draw a gun."
Shoop reined close to Corliss and held out his hand. "Mebby not, Jack. But if we do—so-long."
Then the genial Bud loped to the outriders, picking them up one by one. The cattle, freed from the vigilance of the circling horsemen, sniffed the dawn, crowded to a wedge, and began to trot, then to run. Shoop and his four companions spurred ahead, swung to the road, and thundered past the ranch-house as a faint edge of light shot over the eastern horizon. They entered the mouth of the draw, swung around, and reined up.
"We're goin' to chip in when Jack opens the pot," said Shoop. "Just how strong we'll come in depends on how strong Jack opens her." Then with seeming irrelevance he remarked casually: "Sinker wasn't such a bad ole scout."
"Which Loring's goin' to find out right soon," said "Mebby-So," a lean Texan.
"Sinker's sure goin' to have company, I take it," remarked "Bull" Cassidy.
"Boss's orders is to take her without makin' any noise," said Shoop.
"Huh! I'm plumb disappointed," asserted Mebby-So. "I was figurin' on singin' hymns and accompanyin' meself on me—me cayuse. Listen! Somethin' 's broke loose!"
Thundering like an avalanche the herd swept down on the water-hole, ploughing through a band of sheep that were bedded down between them and the ranch. The herder's tent was torn to ribbons. Wingle, trailing behind the herd, dismounted, and, stooping, disarmed the bruised and battered Mexican who had struggled to his feet as he rode up.
From the water-hole came shouts, and Corliss saw several men come running from the house to seize their horses and ride out toward the cattle. The band of riders opened up and the distant popping of Winchesters told him that the herders were endeavoring to check the rush of the thirst-maddened steers. The carcasses of sheep, trampled to pulp, lay scattered over the mesa.
"It sure is hell!" remarked Wingle, riding up to Corliss.
"Hell is correct," said Corliss, spurring forward. "Now I reckon we'll ride over to the rancho and see if Loring wants any more of it."
Silently the rancher and his men rode toward the water-hole. As they drew near the line fence, the Mexican riders, swinging in a wide circle, spurred to head them off.
"Hold on!" shouted Corliss. "We'll pull up and wait for 'em."
"Suits me," said Wingle, loosening his gun from the holster.
The Mexicans, led by Loring, loped up and reined with a slither of hoofs and the snorting of excited ponies. Corliss held up his hand. Loring spurred forward and Corliss rode to meet him.
"Want any more of it?" queried Corliss.
"I'll take all you got," snarled Loring.
"All right. Just listen a minute." And Corliss reached in his saddle-pocket. "Here's a lease from the Government covering the ten sections adjoining the water-hole ranch, on the south and west. And here's a contract with the owner of the water-hole, signed and witnessed, for the use of the water for my stock. You're playing an old-fashioned game, Loring, that's out of date. Want to look over these papers?"
"To hell with your papers. I'm here and I'm goin' to stay."
"Well, we'll visit you regular," shouted a puncher.
"Better come over to the house and talk things over," said Corliss. "I don't want trouble with you—but my boys do."
Loring hesitated. One of his men, spurring up, whispered to him.
Wingle, keenly alert, restrained a cowboy who was edging forward. "Don't start nothin'," he said. "If she's goin' to start, she'll start herself."
Loring turned to Corliss. "I'd like to look at them papers," he said slowly.
"All right. We'll ride over to the house."
The two bands of riders swung toward the north, passed the tank, and trotted up to the ranch-gate. They dismounted and were met by Shoop and his companions. Loring blinked and muttered. He had been outgeneraled. One of the Concho riders laughed. Loring's hand slipp
ed to his belt. "Don't," said Corliss easily. The tension relaxed, and the men began joking and laughing.
"Where's Sundown?" queried Corliss.
Loring gestured toward the house.
"I'll go," said Wingle. And he shouldered through the group of scowling herders and entered the house.
Sundown, with hands tied, was sitting on the edge of his bed. "They roped me," he said lugubriously, "in me own house. Bud he was goin' to untie me, but I says for the love of Mike leave me tied or I'll take a chair and brain that Chola what kicked Gentle Annie in the stummick this mornin'. He was goin' to milk her and I reckon she didn't like his looks. Anyhow, she laid him out with a kind of hind-leg upper-cut. When he come to, he set in to kickin' her. I got his picture and if I get me hands on him…"
Wingle cut the rope and Sundown stood up. "They swiped me gun," he asserted.
"Here's one I took off a herder," said Wingle. "if things get to boilin' over—why, jest nacherally wilt the legs from under anything that looks like a Chola. Jack's got the cards, all right—but I don't jest like the look of things. Loring's in the corner and he's got his back up."
As they came from the house, Loring was reading the papers that Corliss had handed to him. The old sheep-man glanced at the signatures on the documents and then slowly folded them, hesitated, and with a quick turn of his wrist tore them and flung the pieces in Corliss's face. "That for your law! We stay!"
Corliss bit his lip, and the dull red of restrained anger burned in his face. He had gone too far to retreat or retract. He knew that his men would lose all respect for him if he backed down now. Yet he was unable to frame a plan whereby he might avoid the arbitration of the six-gun. His men eyed him curiously. Was Jack going to show a yellow streak? They thought that he would not—and yet…
Sundown raised his long arm and pointed. "There's the gent what kicked me cow," he said, his face white and his eyes burning.
The punchers of the Concho laughed. "Jump him!" shouted "Bull" Cassidy. "We'll stand by and see that there's no monkeyin'."
Corliss held up his hand. The Mexicans drew together and the age-old hatred for the Gringo burned in their beady eyes.
Sundown's thin lips drew tight. "I've a good mind to—" he began. The Mexican who had maltreated the cow mistook Sundown's gesture for intent to kill. The herder's gun whipped up. Sundown grabbed a chair that stood tilted against the house and swung it. The Mexican went down. With the accidental explosion of the gun, Mebby-So grunted, put his hand to his side, and toppled from the saddle. Corliss wheeled his horse.
"Don't shoot, boys!" he shouted.
His answer was a roar of six-guns. He felt Chinook shiver. He jumped clear as the horse rolled to its side. Sundown, retreating to the house, flung open the bedroom window and kneeling, laid the barrel of his gun on the sill. Deliberately he sighted, hesitated, and flung the gun from him. "God Almighty—I ought to—but I can't!" He had seen Corliss fall and thought that he had been killed. He saw a Mexican raise his gun to fire; saw him suddenly straighten in the saddle. Then the gun dropped from his hand, and he bent forward upon his horse, recovered, swayed a moment, and fell limply.
Bud Shoop, on foot, ran around to the rear of the house. His horse lay kicking, shot through the stomach. The foreman drew himself up under cover of the hen-house and fired into the huddle of Mexicans that swept around the yard as the riders of the Concho drove them back. He saw "Bull" Cassidy in the thick of it, swinging his guns and swearing heartily. Finally a Mexican pony, wounded and wild with fright, tore through the barb-wire fence. Behind him spurred the herders. Out on the mesa they turned and threw lead at the Concho riders, who retreated to the cover of the house. Corliss caught up a herder's horse and rode around to them. Shorty, one of his men, grinned, fell to coughing, and sank forward on his horse.
"Loring's down," said Wingle, solemnly reloading his gun. "Think they got enough, Jack?"
"Loring, eh? Well, I know who got him. Yes, they got enough."
Shorty, vomiting blood, wiped his lips on his sleeve. "Well, I ain't—not yet," he gasped. "I'm goin' to finish in a blaze of glory. Come on, boys!" And he whirled his horse. Swaying drunkenly he spurred around the corner of the house and through the gateway.
Corliss glanced at Wingle. "We can't let him ride into 'em by his lonesome," said Wingle. "Eh, boys?"
"Not on your fat life!" said Bull Cassidy. "I got one wing that's workin' and I'm goin' to fly her till she gits busted."
"Let's clean 'em up! Might's well do a good job now we're at it. Where's Bud?"
"He's layin' over there back of the chicken-roost. Reckon he's thinkin' things over. He ain't sayin' much."
"Bud down, too? Then I guess we ride!" And they swept out after Shorty. They saw the diminutive cowboy tear through the band of herders, his gun going; saw his horse stumble and fall and a figure pitch from the saddle and roll to one side. "And if I'm goin'—I want to go out that way," shouted Bull Cassidy. "Shorty was some sport!"
But the Mexicans had had enough of it. They wheeled and spurred toward the south. The Concho horses, worn out by the night-journey, were soon distanced.
Corliss pulled up. "Catch up a fresh horse, Hi. And let Banks know how things stand. If Loring isn't all in, you might fetch the doctor back with you. We'll need him, anyway."
"Sure! Wonder who that is fannin' it this way? Don't look like a puncher."
Corliss turned and gazed down the road. From the south came little puffs of dust as a black-and-white pinto running at top speed swept toward them. He paled as he recognized the horse.
"It's Loring's girl," said Wingle, glancing at Corliss.
Nell Loring reined up as she came opposite the Concho riders and turned from the road. The men glanced at each other. Then ensued an awkward silence. The girl's face was white and her dark eyes burned with reproach as she saw the trampled sheep and here and there the figure of a man prone on the mesa. Corliss raised his hat as she rode up. She sat her horse gazing at the men. Without a word she turned and rode toward the ranch-house. The Concho riders jingled along, in no hurry to face the scene which they knew awaited them at the water-hole.
She was on her knees supporting her father's head when they dismounted and shuffled into the yard. The old sheep-man blinked and tried to raise himself. One of the Concho boys stepped forward and helped her get the wounded man to the house.
Corliss strode to the bedroom and spoke to Sundown who turned and sat up. "Get hit, Sun?"
"No. But I'm feelin' kind of sick. Is the ole man dead?"
"He's hurt, but not bad. We want the bed."
Sundown got to his feet and sidled past the girl as she helped her father to the bed.
"I sent for the doctor," said Corliss.
The girl whirled and faced him. "You!" she exclaimed—"You!"
The rancher's shoulders straightened. "Yes—and it was my gun got him. You might as well know all there is to it." Then he turned and, followed by Sundown, stepped to the yard. "We'll keep busy while we're waiting. Any of you boys that feel like riding can round up the herd. Hi and I will look after—the rest of it."
"And Bud," suggested a rider.
They found Shoop on the ground, the flesh of his shoulder torn away by a .45 and a welt of red above his ear where a Mexican's bullet had creased him. They carried him to the house. "Sun, you might stir around and rustle some grub. The boys will want to eat directly." And Corliss stepped to the water-trough, washed his hands, and then rolled a cigarette. Hi Wingle sat beside him as they waited for dinner. Suddenly Corliss turned to his cook. "I guess we've won out, Hi," he said.
"Generally speakin'—we sure have," said Wingle. "But I reckon you lost."
Corliss nodded.
CHAPTER XXVII
"JUST ME AND HER"
Sheriff Banks tossed Corliss's note on his desk, reached in his pocket and drew forth a jack-knife with which he began to trim his finger-nails. He paid no apparent attention to the arrival of one of his deputies, but proceeded with his m
anipulation of the knife. The deputy sidled to a chair and sat watching the sheriff.
Presently Banks closed his knife, slid it into his pocket, and leaned back in his chair. "Lone Johnny gone back?" he queried.
The deputy nodded.
Banks proffered his companion a cigar and lit one himself. For a while he smoked and gazed at the ceiling. "I got two cards to play," he said, straightening up and brushing cigar-ash from his vest. "Last election was pretty close. By rights I ought to be at the county-seat. Got any idea why they side-tracked me here in Antelope?"
The deputy grinned. "It's right handy to the line. And I guess they saw what was comin' and figured to put you up against it. They couldn't beat you at the polls, so they tried to put you where you wouldn't come back."
"Correct. And there's no use running against the rope. Now I want you to call on every citizen in Antelope and tell every dog-goned one of 'em what Lone Johnny kind of hinted at regarding the Concho and Loring. And show 'em this note from Jack. Tell 'em I'm going to swear in each of 'em as a special. I want to go on record as having done what I could."
The deputy rose. "All right, Jim. Kind of late to make that move, ain't it?"
"I got another card," said the sheriff. "Tell 'em we'll be ready to start about twelve. It's ten, now."
With the departure of the deputy the sheriff reached in his desk and brought forth a book. It was thumbed and soiled. He turned the pages slowly, pausing to read a line here and there. Finally he settled back and became immersed in the perennial delight of "Huckleberry Finn." He read uninterruptedly for an hour, drifting on the broad current of the Mississippi to eventually disembark in Antelope as the deputy shadowed the doorway. The sheriff closed the book and glanced up. He read his answer in the deputy's eyes.
"'T ain't that they don't like you," said the deputy. "But they ain't one of 'em that'll do anything for Loring or do anything against Jack Corliss."
The sheriff smiled. "Public opinion is setting on the fence and hanging on with both hands. All right, Joe. I'll play her alone. I got a wire from Hank that he's got the herder, Fernando. Due here on the two-thirty. You hang around and tell Hank to keep on—take the Mexican along up to Usher."
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