He told them that he held no ill-feeling against them on account of their refusal to assist his father. That was past history. But now they were to look into the future; they were all facing ruin if they did not combine in a common cause. So far as he was concerned their cattle might remain at the Rabbit-Ear until the drought ended, or until the stream went dry. And if Dunlavey fought them—well, he would be with them to the finish.
When he had concluded Lemuel Train stepped forward and shook his hand. The others followed. There was no word spoken. The men filed down from the gallery, sought their horses, mounted, and rode slowly away into the darkness. When they had gone Hollis turned to resume his chair, but found Norton standing near him, looking at him with a curious smile.
“Shake!” said the latter. “I knowed you’d do it that way!”
CHAPTER XV
TO SUPPORT THE LAW
Hollis alone, of all the men whose cattle grazed on the Circle Bar side of the Rabbit-Ear, really doubted that Dunlavey would have the courage to inaugurate a war against the small owners. Lemuel Train was particularly strong in his belief that Dunlavey would not hesitate to shoot whatever cattle infringed on what he considered were his rights. “I know the skunk!” he declared heatedly to Hollis a day or two after the conversation on the porch at the Circle Bar. “He’ll do it. I’m only scared that he won’t wait till the tenth day before beginnin’. Why in hell don’t it rain?”
This remained the great, universal interrogation. But at the end of a week it was unanswered. The sun swam in its endless circles, a great ball of molten silver at which no man could look with the naked eye, traveling its slow way through a blurred, white sky, sinking to the horizon in the evening and leaving a scorched, blasted, gasping country behind. The nights brought no relief. Clark, of the Circle Y, sarcastically declared it to be his belief that some meddler in things firmamental was paying the owner of the sun to work it overtime.
Hollis’s daily twenty mile ride from the Circle Bar to Dry Bottom and return became a trial to him. At night, when he returned from the trip, hot, dry, dusty, he would draw a chair out on the gallery floor and scan the sky for signs of rain. To his recollection since his adventure on the night of the storm there had not been a cloud in the sky. On the trails the dust was inches deep and light as a feather. It rose in stifling whirlwinds, filling the nostrils and the lungs, parching the tongues of man and beast and accentuating the suffering caused by lack of water.
All the pleasure had been drawn from Hollis’s rides because of the dryness and heat. On a morning a week following the day upon which Dunlavey had issued his warning to the cattle owners, Hollis made his usual trip to Dry Bottom. Norton accompanied him, intending to make some purchases in town. They rode the ten miles without incident and Hollis left Norton at the door of the Kicker office, after telling the range boss to come back to the office when he had made his purchases as he intended returning to the Circle Bar before noon. Hollis found Potter inside. The latter had remained in Dry Bottom over night and was busy at a type case when his chief entered. Hollis did not remain long in the office. He looked over some letters that Potter had placed on his desk, placed one in a pocket and rose, telling Potter that he would be back and instructing him to tell Norton to await his coming should the latter return before him. Then he went down to the court house.
He found the door of Judge Graney’s court room slightly ajar and without knocking he pushed it open and entered. On the threshold he halted and drew a deep breath. Judge Graney was seated at the big table, and directly opposite him, leaning heavily on his elbows, his face inflamed with anger, sat Dunlavey. Near a window at the side of the room stood a grave faced man of medium height, slender and muscular, who was watching the Judge and Dunlavey soberly.
At Hollis’s sudden appearance the Judge looked up and smiled, while Dunlavey faced around, a derisive, mocking grin on his face. Hollis bore no marks of the recent attack beyond the left wrist, still in splints.
“Come in,” invited Judge Graney, his smile growing, his eyes glinting oddly. “I think, since you are responsible for the startling innovation which we have been discussing, that you are entitled to a word.”
He gravely waved Hollis to a chair and stood silent while the latter sank into it. Then he smiled, glancing furtively at Dunlavey and addressing Hollis.
“Perhaps you will remember that some time ago you printed an article in the Kicker urging upon the Government the necessity of bringing the law into Union County?”
Hollis nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly; “I remember.”
“Well,” resumed the Judge, “the article has borne fruit. But perhaps not in the manner you expected.” He laughed around at the three, deliberately closing an eye at Hollis. “You know,” he resumed, addressing them all, his eyes twinkling as his gaze met Dunlavey’s, “that the law is an expensive institution. It is a fundamental principle—at least of some governments,” he smiled—“that a community that desires the law must pay, and pay dearly—for it. In short, if it wants the law it must pay taxes. I do not say that that is a principle which our government is applying, but I do say that it is an eminently fair proposition.
“At all events I have received word from the Interior Department that if we want the law to come out here we must pay for it. That is not said in so many words, but that is the inference, if we are to consider the instructions of the Secretary of the Interior—which are: ‘I am informed that several large ranch owners in Union County are inclined to evade taxation. Especially is this true—I am told—of a man named Dunlavey, who, if the report is correct, paid, during the last half year, taxes on five hundred head of cattle, whereas it is claimed that his holdings will amount to about five thousand, yearly average. In view of this ridiculously low return it seems incumbent upon me to appoint an inquisitor, whose duty―”
Dunlavey laughed harshly, interrupting the Judge. Then he turned suddenly to Hollis, his face inflamed with passion.
“I reckon this is some of your work?” he snarled.
Hollis met his gaze steadily. “I imagine it is,” he said quietly. He could not keep a flash of triumph from his eyes. “Nothing could please me better than to discover that I had a hand in bringing the law to this country. It needs plenty of law.”
Judge Graney cleared his throat. “This does not apply to you alone, Dunlavey,” he said, facing the latter. “Letters have been sent to every cattleman in Union County, demanding their appearance before me. The government is determined to re-adjust conditions out here—to enforce this new law to the letter. Beginning on the first of next month,—September—which will be the day after to-morrow, every cattle owner in the county will be required to register his brand and return a list of his cattle, for taxation. Any owner refusing to make a fair return on his stock will make a grave mistake. Upon his failure to make such return the government will seize his stock and dispose of it to the highest bidder, deducting such an amount as will cover taxes, court costs, and fines, and returning the remainder, if any, to the owner.” Judge Graney faced Hollis. “I suppose you have received your notification to that effect?” he inquired.
“I haven’t paid much attention to my mail since—since I met Mr. Dunlavey and several of his friends one night—some weeks ago.” He smiled grimly at Dunlavey, who met his gaze with a derisive grin. “I haven’t been very much interested in anything except getting well,” continued Hollis. “But whether I have been notified or not I shall take pleasure in complying with the law. I shall have my list ready on time—likewise I shall register my brand.”
Dunlavey sneered. “That won’t be such an almighty big job—counting your steers,” he said.
Hollis laughed shortly. “Perhaps not as big a job as it would have been had conditions been different,” he observed dryly.
“Meaning?” snapped Dunlavey, stiffening in his chair.
“You may draw your own inference,” drawled Hollis.
For an instant it seemed that Dunlavey contemplated attac
king Hollis; he placed both hands on the table before him, preparatory to rising, evidently thought better of the idea and sank into the chair again, his eyes flashing venomously as they met Hollis’s.
“This country’s going plum to hell!” he sneered; “when tenderfeet and half-baked lawyers get to running things it will be time for the cattlemen to pull up stakes and hit the breeze! But I’m telling you one thing!” He banged his fist heavily down upon the table in front of him and scowled at the Judge, his voice vibrating with passion: “You let your damned tenderfoot owners bring in their lists. Mebbe they don’t know any better. But I ain’t bringin’ in no list. It’s one thing to pass a law and another thing to enforce it!” He sat silent for an instant, glaring at the Judge, who smiled quietly at him, then he turned to Hollis.
“You’ve been carrying on like you was intending to own this here country some day,” he sneered; “with your damned newspaper and your lawyer friend here. What we handed you the other night was just a sample of what you’ll get if you don’t hit the breeze out of this country!” He got to his feet and stood beside the table, glaring around at the three men.
For a moment neither of the three spoke. There was a saturnine, almost mocking, smile on the face of the man who stood at the window. In his expression one could discover much appreciation of the character of the man at whom he was looking—it revealed the fact that he had met such men before—and admired them little. There was no fear in the expression, yet had one of the other men taken the trouble to look at him they would have seen that his right hand was now lingering very close to the butt of the revolver at his hip.
Judge Graney cleared his throat. The smile was still on his face, but a sudden brightness of the eyes and a flush in each cheek showed that Dunlavey’s defiance had affected him. Both he and the man at the window watched closely as Hollis got to his feet and approached Dunlavey.
Hollis’s face was slightly pale, but there was a steady, unwavering gleam in his eyes as he walked to within five feet of Dunlavey and stood quietly beside the table looking at him.
“Dunlavey,” he began slowly, in a soft, even voice, in which there was not a hint of excitement, “I haven’t anything to do with enforcing the law that seems to have come to Union County. You can defy the law if you please. But I have something to say in reply to what you have said to me. It is this: I haven’t any ambition to own the entire country—such talk from a grown man is childish. But I do intend to own the little I’ve got in spite of you or anyone else. I am not in the least afraid of you. I owe you something on account of the other night and some day I am going to thrash you within an inch of your life!”
Dunlavey’s hand fell suggestively to his side. “There’s no time like the present,” he sneered.
“Of course I know that you carry a gun,” said Hollis still evenly, without excitement; “most of you folks out here don’t seem to be able to get along without one—it seems to be the fashion. Also, I might add, every man that carries one seems to yearn to use it. But it has always seemed to me that a man who will use a gun without great provocation is a coward!” He smiled grimly into Dunlavey’s face.
For an instant Dunlavey did not move. His eyes glittered malevolently as they bored into Hollis’s. Then his expression changed until it was a mingling of contempt, incredulity, and mockery.
“So you’re thinking of thrashing me?” he sniffed, backing away a little and eyeing Hollis critically. “You slugged me once and you’re thinking to do it again. And you think that any man who uses a gun on another is a coward?” He laughed sardonically. “Well, all I’ve got to say to you is that you ain’t got your eye-teeth cut yet.” He deliberately turned his back on Hollis and the others and walked to the door. On the threshold he halted, looking back at them all with a sneering smile.
“You know where I live,” he said to Judge Graney. “I ain’t bringing in no list nor I ain’t registering my brand. I don’t allow no man to come monkeying around on my range and if you come out there, thinking to run off any of my stock, you’re doing it at your own risk!” His gaze went from the Judge to Hollis and his smile grew malignant.
“I’m saying this to you,” he said, “no man ain’t ever thrashed Bill Dunlavey yet and I ain’t allowing that any man is ever going to. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!”
He slammed the door and was gone. Hollis turned from the door to see a dry smile on the face of the man at the window.
“Fire eater, ain’t he?” observed the latter, as he caught Hollis’s glance.
CHAPTER XVI
THE BEARER OF GOOD NEWS
Hollis smiled. The Judge got to his feet and approached the two men.
“Hollis,” he said, “shake hands with Mr. Allen, of Lazette.”
Allen’s hand came out quickly and was grasped by Hollis’s, both grips being hearty and warm.
“My name’s Ben Allen,” explained the stranger with a smile. “Tacking on a handle like ‘Mister’ would sure make me feel like a stranger to myself.”
“We’ll not quarrel about that,” remarked the Judge with a smile; “we’ll call you Ben.” He looked soberly at Hollis, continuing:
“Allen has been sent over here from Lazette to assist us in establishing the law. He was formerly sheriff of Colfax County, having been defeated by the Cattlemen’s Association because he refused to become a party to its schemes. On several occasions since severing his official connection with Colfax County he has acted in a special capacity for the government. He is an old acquaintance of the new Secretary of the Interior and much trusted by him. He is to be the inquisitor mentioned in the letter which I read in the presence of Dunlavey.”
Hollis looked at Allen with a new interest. After noting again the steady, serene eyes, narrowed always with a slight squint; the firm straight lips, the well set jaws, Hollis mentally decided that the Secretary of the Interior could not have made a better choice. Certainly, if he had served as sheriff of Colfax County, he had had some excellent experiences, for from reading the Lazette Eagle, Hollis had acquired considerable knowledge of the character of the inhabitants of Colfax. The editor of the Eagle had many times felicitated himself upon the fact that his town (Lazette) had not been built ten miles farther east—in which case he would have been a resident of Union—and ashamed of it.
“I think we need you,” said Hollis simply. “But I imagine you will have to concentrate your efforts upon one ranch only—the Circle Cross. If you make Dunlavey bow to the law you may consider your work finished.”
“I think Dunlavey will change his views of things shortly,” remarked Allen, quietly, but significantly. He smiled at Hollis. “I have read your paper regularly,” he said. “You’ve got the editor of our paper hopping mad—with your claims about Dry Bottom being superior to Lazette. Also, you’ve stirred up the Secretary of the Interior some. I was called to Washington three weeks ago and invited to tell what I knew of conditions out here. I didn’t exaggerate when I told the Secretary that hell was a more peaceful place for a law loving man to live in. Though,” he added with a smile, “I wasn’t ever in hell and couldn’t be positive. I was just accepting what I’ve heard preachers say about it. The Secretary asked me if I knowed you and I told him that though I didn’t I would be right glad to if you was doing anything in my line. He laughed and said he’d miss his guess if you wasn’t making things interesting. Told me to get you to one side and tell you to go to it.” He smiled dryly. “According to what I’ve read in the Kicker you don’t need to be told that and so I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
He dropped his humor and spoke seriously, questioning Hollis about the location of his ranch, listening quietly and attentively to the latter’s answers. Half an hour later after having arranged with Judge Graney for the registering of his brand and the listing of his cattle, Hollis left the court house and went to his office. In running through his mail he came upon Judge Graney’s notification and also another letter, postmarked “Chicago,” which drew a pleased smile to his face.
A few minutes later Norton came in, and though Hollis had done very little on the paper he rose and smilingly announced his intention of returning to the Circle Bar.
“We’ll take the Coyote trail,” he informed Norton, after they had mounted and were riding away from the Kicker office; “I’m stopping for a moment at the Hazelton cabin. Of course,” he added, seeing a knowing grin on Norton’s face, “I expected you would be suspicious—married folks have a habit of adopting a supercilious and all-wise attitude toward those of us who have been unfortunate enough to remain in a state of single blessedness.”
“Meanin’ that you’re some sore because you ain’t got hooked up yet?” grinned Norton.
“Perhaps,” laughed Hollis. “But I have been thinking seriously of trying to reach your altitude.”
“Girl willin’?” queried Norton, as they rode down through a little gully, then up to a stretch of plain that brought them to the Coyote trail.
“That’s where I am all at sea,” returned Hollis. He laughed. “I suppose you’ve read Ace’s poem in the Kicker?” He caught Norton’s nod and continued. “Well, Ace succeeded in crowding a whole lot of truth into that effort. Of course you remember the first couplet:
“‘Woman—she don’t need no tooter,
Be she skule ma’am or biscut shooter.”’
he quoted.
“A woman seems to have an intuitive knowledge of man’s mental processes. At least she gauges him pretty well without letting him into the mystery of how she does it. A man can never tell where he will land.” Ace came very near striking the nail on the head when he wrote in the second couplet that:
‘She has most curyus ways about her,
Which leads a man to kinda dout her.’
“And then, knowing man so well, she absolutely refuses to let him know anything of her thoughts. Which again, Ace has noted in this manner:
The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack Page 146
