The B. M. Bower Megapack

by B. M. Bower

  “I don’t believe it’s the dog.” Ward shook his head at her in mock meditation. “It wouldn’t last overnight, if it was just the dog.” He looked at her with the hidden smile. “Are you sure—”

  “I’m sure you know how to pester a person!” The lips of Billy Louise twisted humorously. “Lots of things bother me, and you ought to help me out instead of making it worse.” She walked beside him down to the corral where Rattler was waiting, saddled and bridled for the homeward journey.

  “Well, tell a fellow what they are. Of course, if it’s the dog—”

  “Ward Warren, you’re awful! It isn’t the dog. Well, it is, but there are heaps of other things I want to know, that I don’t know. And you don’t seem to care about any single one of them.”

  Ward leaned up against the fence and tilted his hat to shade his eyes from the sun. “Name a few of them, William Louisa. Not even a brave young buckaroo can be expected to mind-read a girl. If he could—”

  “Well, is it poison you use?” Billy Louise thought it best to change Ward’s trend of thought immediately. “Last night it just came to me all at once that you must have found some poison besides strychnine—”

  “Eh? Oh, I see!” He managed a rather provoking slur on the last word. “No, William.” His eyes twinkled at her. “It isn’t poison. What’s the other thing you want to know?”

  Billy Louise frowned, hesitated, and, accepting the rebuff, went on to the next question:

  “What went with Seabeck’s cattle, and Marthy and Charlie’s, and all the others that have disappeared? You don’t seem to care at all that there seems to be rustling going on around here.”

  Ward gave her a quick look. His tone changed a bit:

  “I don’t know that there is any. I never yet lived in a cow-country where there wasn’t more or less talk of—rustling. You don’t want to take gossip like that too seriously. Anything more?”

  Billy Louise glanced at him surreptitiously and looked away again. Then she tried to go on as casually as she had begun.

  “Well, there’s something about the Cove. I don’t believe Marthy’s happy. I couldn’t quite get hold of the thing yesterday that gave me the blues—but it’s Marthy. She’s grieving, or something. She’s different. She’s changed more since last winter than she’s changed since I can remember. You noticed something—at least you spoke about her coming up the gorge—”

  “I said she thinks a lot of you, Wilhemina.” Ward’s tone and manner were natural again. “I noticed her looking at you when you didn’t know it. She thinks a heap of you, I should say, and she’s worrying about something. Maybe she’d rather have you in the Cove than Miss Gertrude M. Shannon. Don’t you reckon an old lady that has had her own way all her life kind of dreads the advent of a brand-new bride in her domain?”

  “Why, of course! Poor old thing! I never thought of that. And here you hit the nail on the head just with a chance thought. That shows what it means to be a brave young buckaroo, with heaps and piles of brains!” She laughed at him, but behind her bantering was a new respect for Ward’s astuteness. “Go on. Tell me why you don’t like Charlie Fox, or why you refuse to admit how nice and kind he is and—”

  “But I don’t refuse—”

  “Well, I put it stupidly, of course, but you know what I mean. Tell me your candid opinion of him.”

  “I haven’t any.” Ward smoked imperturbably for a minute, so that Billy Louise began to think he would not tell her what she wanted to know. Ward could be absolutely, maddeningly dumb on some subjects, as she had reason to know. But he continued, quite frankly for him:

  “Has it ever struck you, William Jane, that after all Foxy is not sacrificing such a hell of a lot?” He bit his lip because of the word he had let slip, but since Billy Louise took no notice, he went on: “He’s got a pretty good thing, down there, if you stop to think. The old lady won’t live always, and she’s managed to build up a pretty fine ranch. It stands Foxy in hand to be good to her, don’t you think? He’ll have a pretty fine stake out of it. Far as I know, he’s all right. I merely fail to see where he’s got a right to wear any halo on his manly brow. He’s got a good hand in the game, and he’s playing it—a heap better than lots of men would. Dot’s all, Wilhemina.” He turned to her as if he would dismiss the subject. “Don’t run off with the notion that I’m out after the heart’s blood of our young hee-ro. I like him all right—far as he goes. I like him a heap better,” he owned frankly, “since I glommed him devouring that letter from Miss Gertrude M. Shannon.

  “Don’t you want to ride a ways with me?” His eyes made love while he waited for her to speak. “Don’t?” (When she shook her head.) “You’re a pretty mean young person sometimes, aren’t you? Wha’s molla? Did I give you more mood than I wiped off the slate?”

  “I don’t know. You say a sentence or two, and it’s like slashing a knife into a curtain. You show all kinds of things that were nicely covered before.” Billy Louise spoke gloomily. “I’ll see Marthy as a poor old lady waiting to be saddled with a boss, from now on. And Charlie Fox just simply working for his own interests and—”

  “Now, William!”

  “Oh, I can see it myself, now.”

  “Well, what if he is? We’re all of us working for our own interests, aren’t we?” He saw the gloom still deep in her eyes and flung out both hands impatiently. “All right, all right! I’ll plead the cause of our young hee-ro, then. What would old Marthy do without him? He’s made her more comfortable than she ever was in her life, probably. I noticed a big difference in the cabin, yesterday. And he’s doing the work, and taking the responsibility, and making the ranch more valuable—even put a wire on the gate, that rings a bell at the house, so she’ll know when company’s coming, and can get the kitchen swept. He’s done a lot—”

  “For himself!” In her disillusionment Billy Louise went too far the other way. “And the cabin is more comfortable for that girl when he brings her there to run over Marthy!”

  “Well, what of it? You don’t expect him to put in his time for nothing, do you? In the last analysis we’re all self-centered brutes, Wilhemina. We’re thinking once for the other fellow and twice for ourselves, always. I’m working and scheming day and night to get a stake—so I can have what means happiness to me. Marthy’s letting Foxy have full swing in the Cove, because that gives her an easier life than she’s ever had. If she didn’t want him there, she’d mighty quick shoo him up the gorge, or I don’t know the old lady. We’re all selfish.”

  “I think it’s a horrid world!” rebelled the youthful ideals of Billy Louise. “I wish you wouldn’t say you’re just thinking of yourself—”

  “I’m human,” he pointed out. “I want my happiness. So do you, for that matter. We all want to get all we can out of life.”

  “And at the other fellow’s expense!”

  “Oh, not necessarily. Some of us want the other fellow to be just as happy as we are.” His look pointed the meaning for him.

  “I don’t care; I think it’s mean of Charlie Fox to bring—”

  “Maybe not. The chances are the young lady will take to housework like a bear-cub to a syrup keg, and old Marthy will potter around with her flowers and be perfectly happy with the two of them. Cheer up, Bill Loo! Lemme have a smile, anyway, before I go. And I wish,” he added quizzically, “you’d spare me some of that sympathy you’ve got going to waste. I’m a poor lonesome devil working away to get a stake, and you know why. I don’t have nobody to give me a kind word, and I don’t have no fun nor nothing, nohow. Come on and ride a mile or two!”

  “I have to help mommie,” said Billy Louise, which was not true.

  “Well, if you won’t, darn it, don’t!” Ward reached down, caught her hand, and squeezed it, taking a chance on being seen. “Gotta go, Wilhemina-mine. Adios. I won’t stay away so long next time.” He turned away to his horse, stuck his foot in the stirrup; and went up into the saddle without any apparent effort. Then he swung Rattler close to where she stoo
d beside the gate.

  “Sure you want to be just pals, Wilhemina-mine?” he asked, bending close to her.

  “Of course I’m sure,” said Billy Louise quickly—a shade too quickly.

  Ward looked at her intently and shrugged his shoulders. “All right,” he said, in the tone which made plain his opinion of her decision. “You’re the doctor.”

  Billy Louise watched him up the hill and out of sight over the top. When he was gone, she caught Blue and saddled him; then, with her gun buckled around her hips and her rope coiled beside the saddle-fork, she rode dismally up the canyon.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE LITTLE DEVILS OF DOUBT

  Wolverine canyon, with the sun shining down aslant into its depths, was a picturesque gash in the hills, wild enough in all conscience, but to the normal person not in the least degree gloomy. The jutting crags were sunlit and warm. The cherry thickets whispered in a light breeze and sheltered birds that sang in perfect content. The service berries were ripening and hung heavy-laden branches down over the trail to tempt a rider into loitering. The creek leaped over rocks, slid thin blades of swift current between the higher bowlders, and crept stealthily down into shady pools, where speckled trout lay motionless except for the gently-moving tail and fins that held them stationary in some deeper shadow. Not a gloomy place, surely, when the peace of a sunny morning laid its spell upon the land.

  Billy Louise, however, did not respond to the canyon’s enticements. She brooded over her own discouragements and the tantalizing little puzzles which somehow would not lend themselves to any convincing solution. She was in that condition of nervous depression where she saw her finest cows dead of bloat in the alfalfa meadows—and how would she pay that machinery note, then? She saw John Pringle calling unexpectedly and insistently for his “time”—and where would she find another man whom she could trust out of her sight? John Pringle was slow, and he was stupid and growled at poor Phoebe till Billy Louise wanted to shake him, but he was “steady,” and that one virtue covers many a man’s faults and keeps him drawing wages regularly.

  Her mother had been more and more inclined to worry as the hot weather came on; lately her anxiety over small things had rather gotten upon the nerves of Billy Louise. She felt ill-used and down-hearted and as if nothing mattered much, anyway. She passed her cave with a mere glance and scowl for the memories of golden days in her lonely childhood that clung around it. She passed Minervy’s cave, and her lips quivered with self-pity because that childhood was gone, and she must not waste time or energy upon romantic “pretends,” but must measure haystacks and allow so much for “settling,” and then add and multiply and divide all over two sheets of tablet paper to find out how much hay she had to winter the stock on. She must hold herself rigidly to facts, and tend fences and watch irrigating ditches, and pay interest on notes three or four years old, and ride the hills and work her way through rocky canyons, keeping watch over the cattle that meant so much. She had meant to talk over things with Ward and ask his advice about certain details that required experienced judgment. But Ward had precipitated her thoughts into strange channels and so had unconsciously thwarted her counsel-seeking intentions. She had wanted to talk things over with Marthy, and Marthy had also unconsciously prevented her doing so and had filled Billy Louise with uneasiness and doubt which in no way concerned herself.

  These doubts persisted, and so did the tantalizing little puzzles. They weaned Billy Louise’s thoughts from her own ranch worries and nagged at her with the persistence of a swarm of buffalo gnats.

  “Well, if he doesn’t use poison, for goodness’ sake, what does he use?” she asked indignantly aloud, after a period of deep thought. “I don’t see why he wants to be so terribly secretive. He might be human enough to tell a person what he means. I’m sure I’d tell him, all right. I don’t believe it’s wolves at all. I don’t see how—and still—I don’t believe Ward would really lie to me.”

  She was in this particularly dissatisfied mood when she rode out of the canyon at its upper end, where the hills folded softly down into grassy valleys where her cattle loved best to graze. Since the grass had started in the spring, she had kept her little herd up here among the lower hills; and by riding along the higher ridges every day or so and turning back a wandering animal now and then, she had held them in a comparatively small area, where they would be easily gathered in the fall. A few head of Seabeck’s stock had wandered in amongst hers, and some of Marthy’s. And there was a big, roan steer that bore the brand of Johnson, over on Snake River. Billy Louise knew them all, as a housewife knows her flock of chickens, and if she missed seeing certain leaders in the scattered groups, she rode until she found them. Two old cows and one big, red steer that seemed always to have a following wore bells that tinkled pleasant little sounds in the alder thickets along the creek, as she passed by.

  She rode up the long ridge which gave her a wide view of the surrounding hills and stopped Blue, while she stared moodily at the familiar, shadow-splotched expanse of high-piled ridges, with deep green valleys and deeper-hued canyons between. She loved them, every one; but today they failed to steep her senses in that deep content with life which only the great outdoors can give to one who has learned how satisfying is the draught and how soothing.

  Far over to the eastward a black dot moved up a green slope and slid out of sight beyond. That might be Ward, taking a short-cut across the hill to his claim beyond the pine-dotted ridge that looked purple in the distance. Billy Louise sighed with a vague disquiet and turned to look away to the north, where the jumble of high hills grew more rugged, with the valleys narrower and deeper.

  Here came two other dots, larger and more clearly defined as horsemen. From mere objects that stood higher than any animal and moved with a purposeful directness, they presently became men who rode with the easy swing of habit which has become a second nature. They must have seen her sitting still upon her horse in the midst of that high, sunny plateau, for they turned and rode up the slope toward her.

  Billy Louise waited, too depressed to wonder greatly who they were. Seabeck riders, probably; and so they proved. At least one of them was a Seabeck man—Floyd Carson, who had talked with her at her own gate and had told her of the suspected cattle-stealing. The other man was a stranger whom Floyd introduced as Mr. Birken.

  They had been “prowling around,” according to Floyd, trying to see what they could see. Floyd was one of these round-faced, round-eyed, young fellows who does not believe much in secrecy and therefore talks freely whenever and wherever he dares. He said that Seabeck had turned them loose to keep cases and see if they couldn’t pick up the trail of these rustlers who were trying to get rich off a running iron and a long rope. (If you are of the West, you know what that means; and if you are not, you ought to guess that it means stealing cattle and let it go at that.) It was not until he had talked for ten minutes or so that Billy Louise became more than mildly interested in the conversation.

  “Say, Miss MacDonald,” Floyd asked, by way of beginning a new paragraph, “how about that fellow over on Mill Creek? He worked for you folks a year or so ago, didn’t he? What does he do?”

  “He has a ranch,” said Billy Louise with careful calm. “He’s been working on it this summer, I believe.”

  “Uh-huh—we were over there this morning. Them Y6 cattle up above his place are his, I reckon?”

  “Yes,” said Billy Louise. “He’s been putting his wages into cattle for a year or so. He worked for Junkins last winter. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing, I guess! Only he’s the only stranger in the country, and his prosperity ain’t accounted for—”

  “Oh, but it is!” laughed Billy Louise. “I only wish I had half as clear a ticket. When he isn’t working out, he’s wolfing; and every dollar he gets hold of he puts into that ranch. We’ve known him a long time. He doesn’t blow his money, you see, like most fellows do.”

  Floyd found occasion to have a slight argument with his horse, just then. H
e happened to be one of the “most” fellows, and the occasion of his last “blow-out” was fresh in his mind.

  “Well, of course, if you know he’s all straight, that settles it. But it sure seems queer—”

  “That fellow is straight as a string. Don’t you suppose it’s some gang over on the river, Floyd? I’d look around over there, I believe, and try to get a line on the unaccountables. There’s a lot of new settlers come in, just in the last year or two, and there might be some tough ones scattered through the bunch. Better see if there has been any cattle shipped or driven through that way, don’t you think?”

  “We can try,” Floyd assented without eagerness. “But as near as we can figure, it’s too much of a drib-drab proposition for that. A cow and calf here and there, and so on. We got wind of it first when we went out to bring in a gentle cow that the deacon wanted on the ranch. We knew where she was, only she wasn’t there when we went after her. We hunted the hills for a week and couldn’t find a sign of her or her calf. And she had stuck down in the creek bottom all the spring, so it looked kinda funny.” He twisted in the saddle and looked back at the pine-clotted ridge.

  “There’s a Y6 calf up there that’s a dead ringer for the one we’ve been hunting,” he observed. “But it’s running with a cow that carries Junkins’ old brand, So—” He looked apologetically into the calm eyes of Billy Louise. “Of course, I don’t mean to say there’s anything wrong up there,” he hastily assured her. “But that’s the reason I thought I’d ask you about that fellow.”

  “Oh, it’s perfectly right to make sure of everybody,” smiled Billy Louise. “I’d do the same thing myself. But you’ll find everything’s all straight up there. We know all about him, and how and where he got his few head of stock, and everything. But of course you could ask Junkins, if you have any doubt—”

  “Oh, we’ll take your word for it. I just wanted to know; he’s a stranger to our outfit. I’ve seen him a few times; what’s his name? Us boys call him Noisy. It’s like pulling a wisdom tooth to get any kinda talk out of him.”