“Scared!” he said. “Scared out clean—like a bunch of coyotes runnin’ from the daylight!” He made a strange sound with his lips, expressing his unutterable contempt for men so weakly constituted.
“Quit!” he grated. “Quit clean because a tenderfoot comes out here and tries to run things! So long as things come your way you’re willing to stick it out, but when things go the other way—Ugh!”
He turned abruptly, strode out through the door, mounted his pony, and rode rapidly down the street. Several of the men, who went to the door after his departure, saw him riding furiously toward the Circle Cross.
Then one of his former friends laughed harshly—sarcastically. “I reckon that there tenderfoot is botherin’ Big Bill a whole lot,” he said as he turned to the bar.
* * * *
It had been a busy day for Hollis. His hand had been shaken so much that it pained him. The day had been a rather warm one for the season and so when late in the afternoon Norton rode into town, “To see the excitement,” he told Hollis, the latter determined to make the return trip to the Circle Bar in the evening. Therefore, after a short conference with Judge Graney and Allen—and a frugal, though wholesome supper in the Judge’s rooms back of the court house—which Allen cooked—he and Norton rode out upon the Coyote trail and jogged quietly toward the Circle Bar.
There was a good moon; the air was invigorating, though slightly chill, and the trail lay clear and distinct before them, hard after the rain, ideal for riding.
Many times during the first half hour of the ride Norton looked furtively at his chief. Certain things that Mrs. Norton had told him held a prominent place in his thoughts, and mingling with these thoughts was the recollection of a conversation that he had held with Hollis one day when both of them had been riding this same trail and Hollis had stopped off at the Hazelton cabin. Many times Norton smiled. He would have liked to refer to that conversation, but hesitated for fear of seeming to meddle with that which did not concern him. He remembered the days of his own courtship—how jealously he had guarded his secret.
But the longer his thoughts dwelt upon the incident that had been related to him by Mrs. Norton the harder it became to keep silent. But he managed to repress his feelings for the first half hour and then, moved by an internal mirth that simply would not be held in check longer, he cackled aloud.
He saw Hollis shoot a quick glance at him. He cackled again, his mirth swelling as he caught the surprised and puzzled expression of Hollis’s face.
“I have a very original opinion of people who laugh without any visible cause,” remarked the latter, grinning reluctantly in the semi-darkness.
Norton’s reply was another cackle. They rode in silence for a long time.
Then Norton spoke. “This is a great country,” he said.
Silence from Hollis, though taking a quick glance at him Norton again observed the puzzled grin on his face.
“And original,” he remarked, placing upon the latter word the same peculiar emphasis that Hollis had given it a moment before.
Hollis grinned widely; he began to detect a subtle meaning in the range boss’s speech and actions. But he did not answer; it would not strain his patience to await until such a time as Norton made his meaning clear.
“But there’s some things that ain’t original,” continued Norton in the same tone, after another short silence.
This remark clearly required comment. Hollis grinned mildly. “Meaning what?” he questioned.
Norton met his gaze gravely. “Meanin’ that the ways of makin’ love are pretty much the same in every country.” He laughed. “I know there’s different ways of makin’ it—in books,” he continued; “the folks which write books make their men an’ women go at it all kinds of ways. But did you ever know anyone in real life to make love to a girl any different than anyone else?”
“I have had no experience in love making,” returned Hollis, puzzled again.
Norton cackled. “No,” he said, “an’ that’s the peculiar part of it. Mostly no one has ever had any experience when they start to makin’ love the first time. But they all make it the same way. That’s why it ain’t original. You take a man which has got in love with a girl—any man. He don’t want anyone to know that he’s in love with her—he feels sorta sheepish about it. Goes around hangin’ his head an’ blushin’, an’ mostly not sayin’ anything about it. Once he gets it into his system he ain’t the same man any more. Takes to actin’ reserved like an’ gentle. But them that’s had experience can see the symptoms. There ain’t no way to hide it.”
Had Norton looked at Hollis now he might have observed a touch of red in the young man’s face. But he did not look; he was watching the trail ahead, smiling broadly.
They had been riding through a deep depression, going toward a ridge whose crest was fringed with dense, tangled shrubbery. Hollis was about to reply to Norton’s remark when he saw the latter’s lips suddenly straighten; saw his body stiffen as he drew himself erect in the saddle and pulled his pony abruptly up. Surprised, Hollis also reined in and sat silent, looking at Norton.
The latter’s hand went to one of his ears, the fingers spreading out, fan like. “Listen!” he warned sharply.
Hollis had been listening. A low rumble greeted his ears. He looked suddenly upward at the sky, fearful that another storm, such as he had encountered months before, might be forming. But the sky was cloudless. He looked again at Norton. The latter’s eyes shone brightly in the moonlight as he leaned toward Hollis. The rumbling had grown more distinct.
“It ain’t a stampede,” said Norton rapidly; “there wouldn’t be anything to stampede cattle on a night like this. An’ them’s cattle!”
It was about a hundred yards to the ridge toward which they had been riding and Hollis saw Norton suddenly plunge the spurs into his pony’s flanks; saw the animal rush forward. He gave his own animal the spurs and in an instant was at Norton’s side, racing toward the ridge. The range boss dismounted at the bottom, swiftly threw the reins over his pony’s head, and running stealthily toward the crest. Hollis followed him. When he reached Norton’s side the latter was flat on a rim rock at the edge of a little cliff, behind some gnarled brush. Below them the country stretched away for miles, level, unbroken, basking in the moonlight. Hollis recognized the section as that through which he had traveled on the night he had been overtaken by the storm—the big level that led to Big Elk crossing, where he had met Dunlavey and his men that night.
Looking out upon the plain he held his breath in amazement. During the time he had been at the Circle Bar he had seen cattle running, but never had he seen them run like this. About a quarter of a mile from the ridge on which he and Norton stood rose a dust cloud—moving swiftly. But ahead of the cloud, heads down, their horns tossing were a number of cattle, perhaps fifty, racing furiously. They were running parallel with the ridge and would probably pass it. Behind and flanking them raced several cowboys, silent, driving with their quirts.
“Rustlers!” came Norton’s voice from beside him. “They’re headin’ for Big Elk!”
Hollis had brought his rifle, which he had carried since the attack on the night of the storm. At Norton’s word he raised it. But Norton’s hand touched his and his voice came again, sharply, commandingly.
“Don’t shoot!” he said. “It wouldn’t do any good; some of them would get away. Mebbe they’ll come close enough so’s we can see who they are!”
Hollis waited breathlessly. It seemed that but an instant had passed from the time he had caught a first glimpse of them until they were thundering by the ridge and he and Norton were blinded by the dust. They had gone before the dust settled, but through it as they passed, Hollis had caught sight of a familiar figure. Before the thunder of hoofs had died away Hollis felt Norton’s hand on his arm and his voice in his ear.
“Dunlavey!”
There could be no doubt of that, for Hollis had recognized him also. He turned, to hear Norton’s dry voice in his ear.
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“The new law don’t seem to be botherin’ Dunlavey a heap,” he said.
Hollis stepped boldly out on the ridge, his face grim and pale. But he was pulled back by Norton. “I take it you don’t want to let them see you,” he said. “When a thing like that comes off there’s always somebody sure to be lookin’ back.” He was pulling at Hollis’s arm, directing his steps down the slope toward where they had left the horses. “You an’ me ain’t enough,” he was saying to Hollis; “we’ll hit the breeze to the Circle Bar, get some of the boys, an’ hustle back here an’ take them cattle!”
Hollis accompanied him willingly as far as the horses. Then he halted, his eyes flashing brightly. “We won’t go to the Circle Bar,” he said. “We won’t fight them like that. There is a law in this country now and I am going to see that the law acts!” He seized Norton’s arm in a firm commanding grip. “You follow them,” he directed. “From the edge of the butte where they caught me on the night of the storm you can see the country for miles. Don’t cross the river,” he warned. “Stay there beside the butte until I come back—I won’t be long. Watch where they take the cattle!”
Before Norton could offer a word of objection he was on his pony and racing over the back trail at terrific speed. For a moment Norton watched him. Then he disappeared and Norton grimly mounted his pony and rode down to the level following the trail taken by the thieves.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE ARM OF THE LAW
The lights in Dry Bottom’s saloons were flickering brightly when Hollis rode down the street and dismounted from his drooping pony in front of the court house. He ran stiffly around the side of the building and knocked loudly on a door. There was a short silence and then a movement inside and Ben Allen stuck his head out of a window. He saw at a glance the upward turned face of the nocturnal visitor and called shortly: “Wait! I’ll be down!”
There was a short wait, during which Hollis impatiently paced back and forth and then Allen appeared in the door, fully dressed. Judge Graney, in a night shirt, stood behind him.
“Something’s up, of course,” drawled Allen as he stepped down from the door, “or you wouldn’t come around disturbing folks this way. What is it?”
Hollis briefly related the events of the night, concluding with the statement that he was determined to force the law to act.
“Correct!” laughed Allen. “She’s got to act now.” He caught Hollis’s arm and turned him toward a small cottonwood grove about half a mile distant. A dozen white objects dotting the grove caught Hollis’s gaze. He started.
“Soldiers!” he exclaimed.
“I might say that was a good guess,” drawled Allen. “I sent for them because I thought I might need them if our friend Dunlavey got to cuttin’ up any. It’s been my experience that a detail of Uncle Sam’s boys is about as good a thing to have around in case of trouble as any man could want.”
“But you can’t use them in this case,” remarked Judge Graney, who had stepped down beside the two men. “The governor’s instructions were that they should be used merely as an instrument in enforcing the court’s order regarding the sale of Dunlavey’s cattle. The theft of the Circle Bar cattle is a matter which comes directly under the jurisdiction of the sheriff. If he refuses to act―”
“Hell!” broke in Allen. “We know he won’t do anything!”
The Judge smiled slightly. “I suspect he won’t,” he said dryly. He winked at Hollis.
“Being a judge in this district I am, of course, averse to advising any infractions of the law. But if I were not a judge I would suggest that two strong, energetic men—such as you appear to be―” He leaned forward and whispered in Allen’s ear, whereat that gentleman let out a joyous whoop and almost dragged Hollis around the corner of the building toward the street, leaving the Judge standing in the doorway.
Once on the street Allen set a pace that brought the two to the door of the sheriff’s office quickly. A light shone through the window and when Allen opened the door Watkins was sitting beside his desk, gravely fumbling a deck of cards. He dropped them when he saw his visitors and made a quick movement with his right hand toward his revolver. But Allen’s weapon was already out.
“Bill,” he said in a soft, even voice, “we’re wantin’ a warrant for the arrest of Bill Dunlavey. The charge is stealin’ cattle. Of course you’ll issue it,” he added insinuatingly.
Watkins’s face slowly paled. “Why―” he began.
“Of course I knowed you wouldn’t do it when I asked you,” said Allen with a dangerously soft smile. “That’s why I come down here. This town’s got a sheriff an’ it ain’t. I wouldn’t care a damn if it didn’t have you. There’s lots of folks wouldn’t care either. So that if you’re one of them which does care you’re settin’ right still an’ not sayin’ anything which can be construed as talk till my friend here goes down to the station.” He whispered to Hollis. “Be middlin’ rapid,” he said aloud afterward, “an’ use my name.” He turned to Watkins with a smile. “While we’re waitin’ I’ll do some talkin’,” he said. “But if you let out one little wee chirp them folks which don’t care about you bein’ sheriff of this man’s town will sure have a heap of cause to rejoice.”
Hollis was already far down the street toward the station. When he got there the station was dark—evidently the agent had gone to bed. Hollis pounded heavily on the door and presently the agent opened it, appearing in his night shirt, a heavy six-shooter in hand, his eyes blinking.
“My name is Hollis,” said the latter from the darkness; “I want you to telegraph the governor.”
“Come in.” The agent disappeared within, Hollis following. “This way,” he directed, as he disappeared through another door leading into the station, his night shirt flapping about his lean legs. “What you wantin’ to telegraph?” he questioned, as he seated himself before the instrument and looked up at Hollis. And then, before the latter could answer he continued: “You’re the durndest man to stir up a muss I ever, seen in my life!”
Hollis smiled grimly as he seized a blank and wrote his message to the governor:
“Cattle thieves caught red-handed. Sheriff refuses to act. Crisis. Suggest you appoint me temporarily.
Ben Allen.”
The agent took the message, read it, and then monotonously began to drum on the keys of his instrument.
Hollis found it impossible to sit still and so he nervously paced up and down the room during the sending of the message. The agent finished and, leaned his head sleepily on the table.
“Ought to answer in half an hour—if he’s home,” he informed Hollis. Upon which Hollis slipped out of the door and returned down the street to the sheriff’s office, peering within Watkins still sat at the table and in a chair near him lounged Allen, talking volubly. Hollis watched for a time and then returned to the station to find the agent asleep beside his instrument. Hollis had scarcely awakened him when the sounder began its monotonous ticking. He leaned over the agent’s shoulder and read the governor’s answer as the agent sleepily wrote it down.
“Ben Allen: You are hereby appointed sheriff of Union County in place of W. Watkins, dismissed. Have Judge certify,”
“I reckon there must be somethin’ goin’ on,” remarked the agent. “What’s the matter with Bill―”
But Hollis had snatched the message from his hand and was out into the street in an instant and running down toward the sheriff’s office. When he arrived there Allen was still talking. He passed the telegram to him and the latter rose to his feet and smiled at Watkins, shoving the message under his nose.
“You can read her,” he said. “Then you can go home an’ quit sheriffin’—after I’ve got through with you. You’ve been called down to the court house. I’m takin’ you, chargin’ you with bein’ an accessory before the fact, or somethin’ like that. It don’t make no difference what it is, you’re goin’ with me.” His voice came sharp and chill: “Jump!”
Judge Graney had dressed himself by the
time the three arrived at the court house and Watkins was roughly tumbled into the room which had been set aside as the jail. Then the judge led Hollis and Allen into the court room where he issued Allen’s certificate of appointment.
“Now, I reckon we won’t have no trouble in gettin’ the soldiers,” he grinned. “This sheriff is goin’ to act!”
CHAPTER XXX
FORMING A FRIENDSHIP
At three o’clock in the afternoon Hollis closed his desk and announced to Potter that he was going to the Circle Bar. Potter watched him with a fond smile as he went out the door and placed the saddle on his pony, mounted and rode into the sunshine of the afternoon. The presence of the troopers in town had created a sensation and most of the town’s citizens were gathered about the court house, curiously watching Dunlavey and several of his men who had been taken into custody during the early hours of the morning. Neither Hollis or Norton had been allowed to participate in the final scene, the little captain informing them curtly that the presence of civilians at what promised to be a free-for-all fight was strictly forbidden. And so Norton had returned to the Circle Bar, while Hollis had gone to Dry Bottom to finish an article for the next issue of the Kicker.
It had been in that bald, gray time between darkness and dawn when Ben Allen and Hollis, riding at the head of the detail of troopers beside the dapper little captain, had arrived at the edge of the butte where Hollis had directed Norton to await his coming.
Norton’s only comment upon seeing the troopers had been: “Where in hell did them come from?”
He told Allen that he had watched where Dunlavey and his men had driven the cattle, and that he would find them concealed in a narrow defile between two hills about a mile on the other side of the Rabbit-Ear. He and Hollis had announced their intention to accompany the troop to the scene, but had been refused permission by the captain.
The Charles Alden Seltzer Megapack Page 155
