The B. M. Bower Megapack

by B. M. Bower

  “Drop it! Cut it out!” he bellowed. “Yuh ain’t going t’ make no slaughter-pen out uh this joint, I tell yuh. Put up them guns or else take ’em outside. If you fellers are hell-bent on smokin’ each other up, they’s all kinds uh room outdoors. Git! Vamose! Hike!”

  Conroy wheeled and walked, straight-backed and venomous, to the door. “Come on out, if yuh ain’t scared,” he sneered. “It’s two agin’ one and then some, by the look uh things. But I’ll take yuh singly or in bunches. I’m ready for the whole damn’ Cross L bunch uh coyotes. Come on, you white-livered—!”

  Rowdy rushed for him, with Pink and the Silent One at his heels. He had forgotten that Harry Conroy ever had a sister of any sort whatsoever. All he knew was that Harry had done him much wrong, of the sort which comes near to being unforgivable, and that he had sneered insults that no man may overlook. All he thought of was to get his hands on him.

  Outside, the dusky stillness made all sounds seem out of place; the faint starlight made all objects black and unfamiliar. Rowdy stopped, just off the threshold, blinking at the darkness which held his enemy. It was strange that he did not find him at his elbow, he thought—and a suspicion came to him that Harry was lying in wait; it would be like him. He stepped out of the yellow glare from a window and stood in more friendly shade. Behind him, on the door-step, stood the other two, blinking as he had done.

  A form which he did not recognize rushed up out of the darkness and confronted the three belligerently. “You’re a-disturbin’ the peace,” he yelled. “We don’t stand for nothing like that in Camas. You’re my prisoners—all uh yuh.” The edict seemed to include even the bartender, peering over the shoulder of Bob Nevin, who struggled with several others for immediate passage through the doorway.

  “I guess not, pardner,” retorted Pink, facing him as defiantly as though the marshal were not twice his size.

  The marshal lunged for him; but the Silent One, reaching a long arm from the door-step, rapped him smartly on the head with his gun. The marshal squawked and went down in a formless heap.

  “Come on, boys,” said the Silent One coolly. “I think we’d better go. Your friend seems to have vanished in thin air.”

  Rowdy, grumbling mightily over what looked unpleasantly like retreat, was pushed toward his horse and mounted under protest. Likewise Pink, who was for staying and cleaning up the whole town. But the Silent One was firm, and there was that in his manner which compelled obedience.

  Harry Conroy might have been an optical—and aural—illusion, for all the trace there was of him. But when the three rode out into the little street, a bullet pinged close to Rowdy’s left ear, and the red bark of a revolver spat viciously from a black shadow beside the Come Again.

  Rowdy and the two turned and rode back, shooting blindly at the place, but the shadow yawned silently before them and gave no sign. Then the Silent One, observing that the marshal was getting upon a pair of very unsteady legs, again assumed the leadership, and fairly forced Rowdy and Pink into the homeward trail.

  CHAPTER 7

  Rowdy in a Tough Place

  Rowdy, with nice calculation, met Miss Conroy just as she had left the school-house, and noted with much satisfaction that she was riding alone. Miss Conroy, if she had been at all observant, must have seen the light of some fixed purpose shining in his eyes; for Rowdy was resolved to make her a partner in his dreams of matters domestic. And, of a truth, his easy assurance was the thinnest of cloaks to hide his inner agitation.

  “The round-up just got in yesterday afternoon,” he told her, as he swung into the trail beside her. “We’re going to start out again tomorrow, so this is about the only chance I’ll have to see you for a while.”

  “I knew the round-up must be in,” said Miss Conroy calmly. “I heard that you were in Camas a night or two ago.”

  Inwardly, Rowdy dodged. “We camped close to Camas,” he conceded guardedly. “A lot of us fellows rode into town.”

  “Yes, so Harry told me,” she said. “He came over to see me yesterday. He is going to leave—has already, in fact. He has had a fine position offered him by the Indian agent at Belknap. The agent used to be a friend of father’s.” She looked at Rowdy sidelong, and then went straight at what was in the minds of both.

  “I’m sorry to hear, Mr. Vaughan, that you are on bad terms with Harry. What was the trouble?” She turned her head and smiled at him—but the smile did not bring his lips to answer; it was unpleasantly like the way Harry smiled when he had some deviltry in mind.

  Rowdy scented trouble and parried. “Men can’t always get along agreeably together.”

  “And you disagree with a man rather emphatically, I should judge. Harry said you knocked him down.” Politeness ruled her voice, but cheeks and eyes were aflame.

  “I did. And of course he told you how he took a shot at me from a dark corner, outside.” Rowdy’s eyes, it would seem, had kindled from the fire in hers.

  “No, he didn’t—but I—you struck him first.”

  “Hitting a man with your fist is one thing,” said Rowdy with decision. “Shooting at him from ambush is another.”

  “Harry shouldn’t have done that,” she admitted with dignity. “But why wouldn’t you take a drink with him? Not that I approve of drinking—I wish Harry wouldn’t do such things—but he said it was an insult the way you refused.”

  “Jessie—”

  “Miss Conroy, please.”

  “Jessie”—he repeated the name stubbornly—“I think we’d better drop that subject. You don’t understand the case; and, anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss Harry. Our trouble is long standing, and if I insulted him you ought to know I had a reason. I never came whining to you about him, and it don’t speak well for him that he hot-footed over to you with his version. I suppose he’d heard about me—er—going to see you, and wanted to queer me. I hope you’ll take my word for it, Jessie, that I’ve never harmed him; all the trouble he’s made for himself, one way and another.

  “But what I came over for today concerns just you and me. I wanted to tell you that—to ask you if you’ll marry me. I might put it more artistic, Jessie, but that’s what I mean, and—I mean all the things I’d like to say and can’t.” He stopped and smiled at her, wistfully whimsical. “I’ve been three weeks getting my feelings into proper words, little girl, and coming over here I had a speech thought out that sure done justice to my subject. But all I can remember of it is just that—that I want you for always.”

  Miss Conroy looked away from him, but he could see a deeper tint of red in her cheek. It seemed a long time before she said anything. Then: “But you’ve forgotten about Harry. He’s my brother, and he’d be—er—you wouldn’t want him related—to you.”

  “Harry! Well, I pass him up. I’ve got a pretty long account against him; but I’ll cross it off. It won’t be hard to do—for you. I’ve thought of all that; and a man can forgive a whole lot in the brother of the woman he loves.” He leaned toward her and added honestly: “I can’t promise you I’ll ever get to like him, Jessie; but I’ll keep my hands off him, and I’ll treat him civil; and when you consider all he’s done, that’s quite a large-sized contract.”

  Miss Conroy became much interested in the ears of her horse.

  “The only thing to decide is whether you like me enough. If you do, we’ll sure be happy. Never mind Harry.”

  “You’re very generous,” she flared, “telling me to never mind Harry. And Harry’s my own brother, and the only near relative I’ve got. I know he’s—impulsive, and quick-tempered, perhaps. But he needs me all the more. Do you think I’ll turn against him, even for you?”

  That “even” may have been a slip, but it heartened Rowdy immensely. “I don’t ask you to,” he told her gently. “I only want you to not turn against me.”

  “I do wish you two would be sensible, and stop quarreling.” She glanced at him briefly.

  “I’m willing to cut it out—I told you that. I can’t answer for him, though.” Ro
wdy sighed, wishing Harry Conroy in Australia, or some place equally remote.

  Miss Conroy suddenly resolved to be strictly just; and when a young woman sets about being deliberately just, the Lord pity him whom she judges!

  “Before I answer you, I must know just what all this is about,” she said firmly. “I want to hear both sides; I’m sure Harry wouldn’t do anything mean. Do you think he would?”

  Rowdy was dissentingly silent.

  “Do you really, in your heart, believe that Harry would—knowingly—be guilty of anything mean?” Her eyes plainly told the answer she wanted to hear.

  Rowdy looked into them, hesitated, and clung tenaciously to his convictions. “Yes, I do; and I know Harry pretty well, Jessie.” His face showed how much he hated to say it.

  “I’m afraid you are very prejudiced,” she sighed. “But go on; tell me just what you have against Harry. I’m sure it can all be explained away, only I must hear what it is.”

  Rowdy regarded her, puzzled. How he was to comply he did not know. It would be simply brutal to tell her. He would feel like a hangman. And she believed so in Harry, she wouldn’t listen; even if she did, he thought bitterly, she would hate him for destroying her faith. A woman’s justice—ah, me!

  “Don’t you see you’re putting me in a mighty hard position, girlie?” he protested. “You’re a heap better off not to know. He’s your brother. I wish you’d take my word that I’ll drop the whole thing right where it is. Harry’s had all the best of it, so far; let it stand that way.”

  Her eyes met his coldly. “Are you afraid to let me judge between you? What did he do? Daren’t you tell?”

  Rowdy’s lids drooped ominously. “If you call that a dare,” he said grimly, “I’ll tell you, fast enough. I was a friend to him when he needed one mighty bad. I helped him when he was dead broke and out uh work. I kept him going all winter—and to show his gratitude, he gave me the doublecross, in more ways than one. I won’t go into details.” He decided that he simply could not tell her bluntly that Harry had worked off stolen horses on him, and worse.

  “Oh—you won’t go into details!” Scorn filled eyes and voice. “Are they so trivial, then? You tell me what you did for Harry—playing Good Samaritan. Harry, let me tell you, has property of his own; I can’t see why he should ever be in need of charity. You’re like all the rest; you hint things against him—but I believe it’s just jealousy. You can’t come out honestly and tell me a single instance where he has harmed you, or done anything worse than other high-spirited young men.”

  “It wouldn’t do any good to tell you,” he retorted. “You think he’s just lacking wings to be an angel. I hope to God you’ll always be able to think so! I’m sure I don’t want to jar your faith.”

  “I must say your actions don’t bear out your words. You’ve just been trying to turn me against him.”

  “I haven’t. I’ve been trying to convince you that I want you, anyway, and Harry needn’t come between us.”

  “In other words, you’re willing to overlook my being Harry’s sister. I appreciate your generosity, I’m sure.” She did not look, however, as if she meant that.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Then you won’t overlook it? How very unfortunate! Because I can’t help the relationship.”

  “Would you, if you could?” he asked rashly.

  “Certainly not!”

  “I’m afraid we’re getting off the trail,” he amended tactfully. “I asked you, a while back, if you’d marry me.”

  “And I said I must hear both sides of your trouble with Harry, before I could answer.”

  “What’s the use? You’d take his part, anyway.”

  “Not if I found he was guilty of all you—insinuate. I should be perfectly just.” She really believed that.

  “Can’t you tell me yes or no, anyway? Don’t let him come between us.”

  “I can’t help it. We’d never agree, or be happy. He’d keep on coming between us, whether we meant him to or not,” she said dispiritedly.

  “That’s a cinch,” Rowdy muttered, thinking of Harry’s trouble-breeding talents.

  “Then there’s no more to be said. Until you and Harry settle your difficulties amicably, or I am convinced that he’s in the wrong, we’ll just be friends, Mr. Vaughan. Good afternoon.” She rode into the Rodway yard, feeling very just and virtuous, no doubt. But she left Rowdy with some rather unpleasant thoughts, and with a sentiment toward her precious brother which was not far from manslaughter.

  CHAPTER 8

  Pink in a Threatening Mood

  Eagle Creek Smith had at last reached the point where he must face new conditions and change established customs. He could no longer ignore the barrenness of the range, or close his eyes to the grim fact that his cattle were facing starvation—and that in June, when they should be taking on flesh.

  When he finally did confess to himself that things couldn’t go on like that, others had been before him in leasing and buying land, until only the dry benches were left to him and his hungry herds.

  But Eagle Creek was a man of resource. When the round-up pulled in and Wooden Shoes reported to him the general state of the cattle, and told of the water-holes newly fenced and of creek bottoms gobbled by men more farseeing than he, Eagle Creek took twenty-four hours to adjust himself to the situation and to meet the crisis before him. His own land, as compared to his twenty thousand cattle, was too pitifully inadequate for a second thought.

  He must look elsewhere for the correct answer to his problem.

  When Rowdy rode apathetically up to the stable, Pink came out of the bunk-house to meet him, big with news. “Oh, doctor! We’re up against it a-plenty now,” he greeted, with his dimples at their deepest.

  “Huh!” grunted Rowdy crossly. “What’s hurting you, Pink?”

  “Forecasting the future,” Pink retorted. “Eagle Creek has come alive, and has wised up sudden to the fact that this ain’t going t’ be any Noah’s flood brand uh summer, and that his cattle look like the tailings of a wash-board factory. He’s got busy—and we’re sure going to. We’re due t’ hit the grit out uh here in the first beams uh rosy morn, and do a record stunt at gathering cattle.”

  “Well, we were going to, anyhow,” Rowdy cut in.

  “But that’s only the prelude, old-timer. We’ve got t’ take ’em across country to the Belknap reservation. Eagle Creek went t’ town and telegraphed, and got the refusal of it for pasturage; he ain’t so slow, oncet he gets started. But if you’ve ever rode over them dried-up benches, you savvy the merry party we’ll be when we git there. I’ve saw jack-rabbits packing their lunch along over there.”

  “Belknap”—Rowdy dropped his saddle spitefully to the ground—“is where our friend Conroy has just gone to fill a splendid position.”

  Pink thoughtfully blew the ashes from his cigarette. “Harry Conroy would fill one position fine. So one uh these days I’ll offer it to him. I don’t know anybody that’d look nicer in a coffin than that jasper—and if he’s gone t’ Belknap, that’s likely the position he’ll fill, all right.”

  Rowdy said nothing, but his very silence told Pink much.

  “How’d yuh make out with Jessie?” Pink asked frankly, though he was not supposed to know where Rowdy had been.

  Rowdy knew from experience that it was useless trying to keep anything from Pink that Pink wanted to know; besides, there was a certain comfort in telling his troubles to so stanch a friend. “Harry got his work in there, too,” he said bitterly. “He beat me to her and queered me for good, by the looks.”

  “Huh!” said Pink. “I wouldn’t waste much time worrying over her, if she’s that easy turned.”

  “She’s all right,” defended Rowdy quickly. “I don’t know as I blame her; she takes the stand any sister would take. She wants to know all about the trouble—hear both sides, she said, so she could judge which was to blame. I guess she’s got her heart set on being peacemaker. I know one thing: she—likes me, all right.�
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  “I don’t see how he queered yuh any, then,” puzzled Pink. “She sure couldn’t take his part after you’d told her all he done.”

  Rowdy turned on him savagely. “You little fool, do you think I told her? Right there’s the trouble. He told his story; and when she asked for mine, I couldn’t say anything. She’s his sister.”

  “You—didn’t—tell!” Pink leaned against the stable and stared. “Rowdy Vaughan, there’s times when even your friend can’t disguise the fact that yuh act plumb batty. Yuh let Harry do yuh dirt that any other man’d ’a’ killed him on bare suspicion uh doing; and yuh never told her when she asked yuh to! How yuh lent him money, and let him steal some right out uh your pocket—”

  “I couldn’t prove that,” Rowdy objected.

  “And yuh never told her about his cutting your latigo—”

  “Oh, cut it out!” Rowdy glowered down at him. “I guess I don’t need to be reminded of all those things. But are they the things a man can tell a girl about her brother? Pink, you’re about as unfeeling a little devil as I ever run across. Maybe you’d have told her; but I couldn’t. So it’s all off.”

  He turned away and stared unseeingly at the rim of hills that hid the place where she lived. She seemed very far away from him just then—and very, very desirable. He thought then that he had never before realized just how much he cared.

  “You can jest bet I’d ’a’ told her!” gritted Pink, watching furtively Rowdy’s averted face. “She ain’t goin’ t’ be bowed down by no load of ignorance much longer, either. If she don’t get Harry Conroy’s pedigree straight out, without the varnish, it’ll be because I ain’t next to all his past.”

  But Rowdy, glooming among the debris of certain pet air-castles, neither heard nor wanted to hear Pink’s wrathful mutterings. As a matter of fact, it was not till Pink clattered out of the yard on Mascot that he remembered where he was. Even then it did not occur to him to wonder where Pink was going.