The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  Norton himself stood down by the door of the bunkhouse, grinning with delight. Near him stood Lemuel Train, and several of the other small ranchers whose stock had grazed for more than two weeks on the Circle Bar range without objection from Hollis. They saw him and motioned for him to come down, directing original oaths at him for sleeping so late on so “fine a morning.”

  He dressed hastily and went down. They all ate breakfast in the mess house, the cook being adjured to “spread it on for all he was worth”—which he did. Certainly no one left the mess house hungry. During the meal Lemuel Train made a speech on behalf of himself and the other owners who had enjoyed Hollis’s hospitality, assuring him that they were “with him” from now on. Then they departed, each going his separate way to round up his cattle and drive them back to the home ranch.

  The rain continued throughout the day and far into the night. The dried, gasping country absorbed water until it was sated and then began to shed it off into the arroyos, the gullies, the depressions, and the river beds. Every hollow overflowed with it; it seemed there could never be another drought.

  Before dawn on the following day all the small ranchers had departed. Several of them, on their way to their home ranches, stopped off at the Circle Bar to shake hands with Hollis and assure him of their appreciation. Lemuel Train did not forget to curse Dunlavey.

  “We ain’t likely to forget how he stood on the water proposition,” he said.

  After Train had departed Norton stood looking after him. Then he turned and looked at Hollis, his eyes narrowing quizzically. “You’ve got in right with that crowd,” he said. “Durned if I don’t believe you knowed all the time that it was goin’ to rain before Dunlavey’s tenth day was over!”

  Hollis smiled oddly. “Perhaps,” he returned; “there is no law, moral or otherwise, to prevent a man from looking a little ahead.”

  After breakfast Hollis gave orders to have Greasy prepared for travel, and an hour later he and the range boss, both armed with rifles, rode out of the corral yard with Greasy riding between them and took the Dry Bottom trail.

  The earth had already dried; the trail was hard, level, and dustless, and traveling was a pleasure. But neither of the three spoke a word to one another during the entire trip to Dry Bottom. Greasy bestrode his horse loosely, carelessly defiant; Norton kept a watchful eye on him, and Hollis rode steadily, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the trail.

  At ten o’clock they rode into Dry Bottom. There were not many persons about, but those who were gave instant evidence of interest in the three by watching them closely as they rode down the street to the sheriff’s office, dismounted, and disappeared inside.

  The sheriff’s office was in a little frame shanty not over sixteen feet square, crude and unfinished. There were a front and back door, two windows—one in the side facing the court house, the other in the front. For furniture there were a bench, two chairs, some shelves, a cast iron stove, a wooden box partly filled with saw-dust which was used as a cuspidor, and a rough wooden table which served as a desk. In a chair beside the desk sat a tall, lean-faced man, with a nose that suggested an eagle’s beak, with its high, thin, arched bridge, little, narrowed, shifting eyes, and a hard mouth whose lips were partly concealed under a drooping, tobacco-stained mustache. He turned as the three men entered, leaning back in his chair, his legs a-sprawl, motioning them to the chairs and the bench. They filed in silently. Greasy dropped carelessly into one of the chairs, Norton took another near him, but Hollis remained standing.

  “You are the sheriff, I suppose?” inquired the latter.

  The official spat copiously into the wooden box without removing his gaze from the three visitors.

  “Yep,” he returned shortly, his voice coming with a truculent snap. “You wantin’ the sheriff?”

  Hollis saw a swift, significant glance pass between him and Greasy and he smiled slightly.

  “Yes,” he returned quietly; “we want you. We are delivering this man into your custody.”

  “What’s he done?” demanded the sheriff.

  “I charge him with stealing two of my steers,” returned Hollis. “Several of my men discovered him at work the day before yesterday and―”

  “Hold on a minute now!” interrupted the sheriff. “Let’s git this thing goin’ accordin’ to the law.” He spat again into the wooden box, cocked his head sideways and surveyed Hollis with a glance in which there was much insolence and contempt. “Who might you be?” he questioned.

  “My name is Hollis,” returned the latter quietly, his eyes meeting the other’s steadily. “I own the Circle Bar.”

  “H’m!” The sheriff crossed his legs and stuck his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest, revealing a nickle-plated star on the lapel of the latter. “H’m. Your name’s Hollis, an’ you own the Circle Bar. Seems I’ve heard of you.” He squinted his eyes at Hollis. “You’re Jim Hollis’s boy, ain’t you?” His eyes flashed with a sudden, contemptuous light. “Tenderfoot, ain’t you? Come out here to try an’ show folks how to run things?”

  Hollis’s face slowly paled. He saw Greasy grinning. “I suppose it makes little difference to you what I am or what I came out here for,” he said quietly; “though, if I were to be required to give an opinion I should say that there is room for improvement in this county in the matter of applying its laws.”

  The sheriff laughed harshly. “You’ll know more about this country after you’ve been here a while,” he sneered.

  “Mebbe he’ll know more about how to run a law shebang, too,” dryly observed Norton, “after he’s watched Bill Watkins run her a little.”

  “I don’t reckon anyone ast you to stick your gab in this here affair?” demanded the sheriff of Norton.

  “No,” returned Norton, drawling, “no one asked me. But while we’re handin’ out compliments we might as well all have a hand in it. It strikes me that when a man’s runnin’ a law shop he ought to run her.”

  “I reckon I’ll run her without any help from you, Norton!” snapped the sheriff.

  “Why, sure!” agreed the latter, his gaze level as his eyes met the sheriff’s, his voice even and sarcastic. “But I’m tellin’ you that this man’s my friend an’ if there’s any more of them compliments goin’ to be handed around I’m warnin’ you that you want to hand them out soft an’ gentle like. That’s all. I reckon we c’n now proceed.”

  The sheriff’s face bloated poisonously. He flashed a malignant glance at Hollis. “Well,” he snapped, “what’s the charge?”

  “I have already told you,” returned Hollis. “It is stealing cattle.”

  “How stealin’ them?” demanded the Sheriff truculenty.

  “Changing the brand,” Hollis informed him. He related how Ace and Weary had come upon the prisoner while the latter was engaged in changing his brand to the Circle Cross.

  “They see him brandin’?” questioned the sheriff when Hollis had concluded.

  Hollis told him that the two men had come upon Greasy after the brand had been applied, but that the cattle bore the Circle Bar ear-mark, and that Greasy had built a fire and that branding irons had been found in his possession—which which he had tried to hide when discovered by the Circle Bar men.

  “Then your men didn’t really see him doin’ the brandin’?” questioned Watkins.

  Hollis was forced to admit that they had not. Watkins smiled sarcastically.

  “I reckon you’re runnin’ a little bit wild,” he remarked. “Some of your stock has been rebranded an’ you’re chargin’ a certain man with doin’ it—only you didn’t see him doin’ it.” He turned to Greasy. “What you got to say about this, Greasy?” he demanded.

  Greasy grinned blandly at Hollis. “This guy’s talkin’ through his hat,” he sneered. “I ain’t allowin’ that I branded any of his cattle.”

  Watkins smiled. “There don’t seem to be nothin’ to this case a-tall—not a-tall. There ain’t nobody goin’ to be took into custody by me for stealin’ cattle unless they’re ke
tched with the goods—an’ that ain’t been proved so far.” He turned to Hollis. “You got anything more to say about it?” he demanded.

  “Only this,” returned Hollis slowly and evenly, “I have brought this man here. I charge him with stealing my cattle. To use your term—he was caught ‘with the goods.’ He is guilty. If you take him into custody and bring him to trial I shall have two witnesses there to prove what I have already told you. If you do not take him into custody, it is perfectly plain that you are deliberately shielding him—that you are making a joke of the law.”

  Watkins’s face reddened angrily. “Mebbe I’m makin’ a joke of it―” he began.

  “Of course we can’t force you to arrest this man,” resumed Hollis, interrupting Watkins. “Unfortunately the government has not yet awakened to the fact that such men as you are a public menace and danger. I did not expect you to arrest him—I tell you that frankly. I merely brought him here to see whether it were true that you were leagued with Dunlavey against the other ranchers in the country. You are, of course. Therefore, as we cannot secure justice by appealing to you we will be forced to adopt other means.”

  The sheriff’s right hand dropped to his gun-holster. He sneered, his lips writhing. “Mebbe you mean―” he began.

  “I ain’t lettin’ this here situation get beyond my control,” came Norton’s voice, cold and even, as his six-shooter came out and was shoved menacingly forward. “Whatever he means, Watkins, he’s my friend an’ you ain’t runnin’ in no cold lead proposition on him.” He smiled mirthlessly.

  Watkins’s face paled; his right hand fell away from the pistol holster. There was a sound at the door; it swung suddenly open and Dunlavey’s gigantic frame loomed massively in the opening.

  “I’m looking for Greasy!” he announced in a soft, silky voice, looking around at the four men with a comprehending, appreciative smile. “I was expecting to find him here,” he added as his gaze sought out the prisoner, “after I heard that he’d been nabbed by the Circle Bar men.”

  Norton smiled coldly. “He’s here, Bill,” he said evenly. “He’s stayin’ here till Mr. Hollis says it’s time for him to go.”

  He did not move the weapon in his hand, but a certain glint in his eyes told Dunlavey that the pistol was not in his hand for mere show. The latter smiled knowingly.

  “I’m not interfering with the law,” he said mockingly. “And I certainly ain’t bucking your game, Norton.” He turned to Watkins, speaking with broad insinuation: “Of course you are putting a charge against Greasy, Watkins?” he said.

  They all caught the sheriff’s flush; all saw the guilty embarrassment in his eyes as he answered that he had not. Dunlavey turned to Hollis with a bland smile.

  “Have you any objection to allowing Greasy to go now, Mr. Hollis?”

  Hollis’s smile was no less bland as his gaze met Dunlavey’s. “Not the slightest objection, Mr. Dunlavey,” he returned. “I congratulate you upon the manner in which you have trained your servants!” He ignored Dunlavey and smiled at Norton. “Mr. Norton,” he said with polite mockery, “I feel certain that you agree with me that we have no wish to contaminate this temple of justice with our presence.”

  He bowed with mock politeness as he strode to the door and stepped down into the street. Norton followed him, grinning, though he did not sheath his weapon until he also was in the street.

  As they strode away from the door they turned to see Dunlavey looking out after them, his face wreathed in a broad smile.

  “There is plenty of law in Union County, Mr. Hollis,” he said, “if you know how to handle it!”

  CHAPTER XX

  THE “KICKER’S” CANDIDATE

  The next issue of the Kicker contained many things of interest to its readers. Now that the drought had been broken, Union County could proceed with its business of raising cattle without fear of any future lack of water, with plenty of grass, and no losses except those from the usual causes. Dry Bottom merchants—depending upon the cattlemen for their trade—breathed easier and predicted a good year in spite of the drought. Their worries over, they had plenty of time—and inclination—to discuss the Kicker.

  More advertisements were appearing in the paper. Dry Bottom merchants were beginning to realize that it deserved their support, and with few exceptions they openly began to voice their opinions that the editor would “make good.”’ The advertisements began to take on a livelier tone and the Lazette Eagle grew more sarcastic.

  When the Kicker appeared following the incident in the sheriff’s office, there was a detailed account of Dunlavey’s now famous “ten day edict,” together with some uncomplimentary comments upon the latter’s action. This was signed by Hollis. He called attention to Dunlavey’s selfishness, to the preparations that had been made by him to shoot down all the foreign cattle on the Rabbit-Ear. He made no reference to his part in the affair—to his decision to allow the small ranchers to water their cattle in the river at the imminent risk of losing his own. But though he did not mention this, the small owners and his friends took care that the matter received full publicity, with the result that Hollis was kept busy assuring his admirers that the incident had been much magnified—especially his part of it. Then his friends applauded his modesty.

  In the same issue of the paper was also related the story of Greasy’s capture by the Circle Bar men. But in telling this story Hollis was not so modest, for he spoke frankly of his part in it—how he had refused to allow his men to hang the thief, telling his readers that though Greasy deserved hanging, he did not purpose to violate the law while advocating it. Following the story of the capture was a detailed report of the incident in the sheriff’s office and a scathing commentary upon the subservience of the latter official to Dunlavey’s will. The article was entitled: “Handling the Law,” and Dunlavey’s exact words when he stood in the door of the sheriff’s office as Hollis and Norton departed were repeated.

  Below this, under the rubric, “Union County Needs a New Sheriff,” appeared an article that created a sensation. This dwelt upon the necessity of the county having a sheriff who would not permit his office to be prostituted by any man or influence. The Kicker named a man who would not be bribed or cowed and declared that his name would appear on the ballot at the next election—to be held on the first Monday in November. At the end of the article he printed the man’s name—Ben Allen!

  He had made this announcement without authority, and therefore he was not surprised, soon after the appearance of the issue containing the article, to see Allen’s tall figure darken the door of the Kicker office while he sat at his desk.

  “Durn your hide!” cried the latter as he stood in the doorway; “you’re the biggest disturber in seven states!”

  “Perhaps,” smiled Hollis, motioning Allen to a chair. “Still, you don’t need to thank me. You see, I have decided to clean up this county and I need some help. I supposed you were interested. Of course you may refuse if you like.”

  “Refuse!” Allen’s eyes flashed as he took Hollis’s hand and wrung it heartily. “My boy,” he declared earnestly, “you couldn’t have done anything to suit me better. I’m just yearning to take a big hand in this game!”

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” smiled Hollis.

  “Some,” returned Allen. He grasped Hollis’s hand and wrung it heartily. “You’re a winner and I’m mighty glad to be able to work with you.” He spoke seriously. “Do you think there’s a chance for us to beat Dunlavey?”

  Hollis laughed. “I flatter myself that a certain editor in this town stands rather well with the people of this county since a certain thing happened.”

  “You sure do!” grinned Allen. “Lordy! how this county has needed a man like you!”

  Hollis smiled. “Then you won’t object to being the Kicker’s candidate?” he inquired.

  “Object!” returned Allen with mock seriousness. “Say, young man, if you don’t keep my name at the head of your editorial column from now till the first Monday in
November I’ll come down here and manhandle you!”

  And so it was arranged. Dry Bottom gasped in public but rejoiced in secret. Many of the town’s merchants personally congratulated Hollis.

  But for two days following the appearance of the issue of the Kicker containing these sensations, Hollis stayed away from Dry Bottom. Now that he had launched Allen’s campaign and placed the other matters before his readers, he began to devote some attention to the problem of arranging for Ed Hazelton’s visit to the great Chicago surgeon. Both Nellie and Ed had been disappointed because of his continued absence, and when, on an afternoon a few days after his activity in Dry Bottom, he rode up to the Hazelton cabin his welcome was a cordial one.

  “It seems like a year since I’ve seen you!” declared Hazelton as he came down from the porch to lead Hollis’s pony into the shade at the rear of the cabin.

  While he was gone with the pony Hollis stood looking up at Nellie, who had remained seated in her chair on the porch and who was now regarding him with eyes in which shone unconcealed pleasure.

  “It hasn’t really been so long, you know,” said Hollis, smiling at her. “But then, I have been so busy that I may not have noticed it.”

  Of course she could not tell him how many times she had sat on the porch during Ed’s absences watching the Coyote trail. But she blushed and made room for him on the porch. Ed appeared presently and joined them there. The young man was not able to conceal his joy over the prospect of his ultimate recovery from the peculiar malady that afflicted him, and gratitude mingled with it as he looked at his benefactor. He had not recovered from an attack the day before.

  “We’ve got it all arranged,” he told Hollis with a wan smile. “I’m going to Chicago just as soon as I can get things fixed.” He reddened with embarrassment as he continued: “There’s some things that I’d like to talk to you about before I make up my mind when to start,” he said; “I’ve been worrying about what to do with my stock while I’m gone. I wouldn’t want it to stray or be run off by Dunlavey’s gang.” The appeal in his eyes did not escape Hollis’s keen observation.