The Deer Stalker

by Zane Grey

CHAPTER TEN

  EBURNE left his cabin at Big Spruce and rode down toward V. T. Park, which was distant by a day’s slow horseback ride. At a point where the trail crossed the new road, he espied fresh motorcar tracks.

  “Way up here,” he muttered in surprise. “First wheel track I’ve seen up here this summer, or for that matter the first I ever saw. They would have to build this new road.”

  He got off to make sure just how fresh the tracks were. “Made this morning maybe. Last night sure.” Mounting again, he turned down the road, for no particular reason that he could account for except that the impulse was strong.

  The morning was beautiful, one of the first without frost, and all about him birds, deer, squirrels, and grouse seemed to be participating in the joy of life. Eburne would have had that forest as the Indian would—without roads, cars, white men, cattle. Let nature take care of the deer! But this was impossible because government appeared to be made up of the same kind of men as those who lived off the range. They wanted to run things to suit themselves, and each set of men, the same as new ranchers, cattlemen, prospectors, hunters, changed these things according to their idiosyncrasies or personal desires.

  Presently the ranger’s keen nose detected smoke, and soon, at a turn of the road, he espied an automobile camp near the edge of a grass park. He rode up at a brisk pace to confront three men eating breakfast around a campfire. Two of them he recognized as Settle-mire and Judson, but the third man he had never seen before. Eburne was fairly familiar with his type, which appeared anything but that of a tourist. He had the sharp, pale face of a man of affairs from Chicago or Los Angeles, looking for some business deal in oil or lumber or cattle.

  “Hello, Settlemire. What you doing way up here in the woods?” he inquired with cool curiosity. He did not greet Judson. They had clashed more than once. Upon the third member of the trio Eburne bent speculative eyes.

  “Hello, Eburne. If it’s any of your business, I’m up here for my health,” retorted Settlemire with ill-concealed chagrin and hostility.

  “I’m an honest-to-goodness forest ranger. Do you get that?” replied Eburne.

  “Yes, I suppose I do. But it doesn’t matter particularly to me what you are.”

  “Well, it explains my business here,” Eburne returned.

  Settlemire recovered himself somewhat and began to talk about his cattle, complaining of the lack of grass and asserting that if the government did not order ten thousand deer killed on the preserve he would remove his cattle to Utah.

  “What difference would that make to the government?” queried Thad curtly. “Besides you’ve already had the government orders to move your cattle off the preserve. And you haven’t done it!”

  “I have, too—thousands of cattle,” declared Settlemire.

  “You’ve still four thousand head over on the west side,” rejoined Eburne coolly.

  “Is that so? You know more about it than I do, I suppose. But you don’t know that the government is one thing and the forest service another.”

  “Yes, I know that, too.”

  Settlemire spoke of the overmultiplication of deer, that owing to this and a dry year, his cattle and those belonging to other ranchers were starving for grass and water. “I had a chance to sell out,” he concluded, waving a nervous hand at the third man. “But he won’t buy because of this deer problem.”

  “Settlemire, don’t you realize you’re dealing with United States property?” asked Eburne, amazed.

  “My cattle belong to me,” returned Settlemire.

  “Your cattle, yes. But not this range. That belongs to the United States government, and right now you are using it against the law.”

  “Yes, and I’m going to get the government to permit the killing of ten thousand deer.”

  “Where?” demanded Eburne hotly.

  “Right here in your Buckskin.”

  “You can’t do it,” replied the ranger with passion. “I can’t conceive of the government permitting a horde of pot-hunters and amateur sportsmen and automobilists to come in here. They’d murder these tame deer and cripple twice as many as they killed. Great Scott, what kind of hunters would shoot these tame, half-starved animals?”

  “Thought you was a vegetarian, Eburne,” returned Settlemire with sarcasm. “No doubt you’ve helped the deer graze off the range.”

  Judson and the stranger haw-hawed at this as if it was a huge joke. Eburne passed the insult by, though it made his blood boil.

  “Ten or twenty thousand of these deer have got to be killed,” added Settlemire with finality.

  “Settlemire, if the federal government permits the killing of deer, the State government will oppose it,” returned Eburne with equal finality.

  “You’re for McKay’s plan, hey?” queried Settlemire jeeringly.

  “I sure am. The right and humane thing to do in this case is to save the deer. Not to kill them or try to trap them alive. They should be driven from Buckskin into other parts of Arizona where deer are scarce and feed abundant.”

  “You’re a ranger, a deer stalker, they call you, and yet you’ve faith in that wild plan to drive ten thousand deer across the Grand Canyon?” queried Settlemire derisively.

  “It might be done,” answered Thad.

  Here Judson intervened by rising to kick a billet of wood upon the fire and to speak with deliberation: “Settlemire, you know Eburne’s great at chasing deer across the canyon. But you spell it d—e—a—r!”

  Loud guffaws greeted this sally.

  Without more ado, Thad slipped off his horse and, leisurely stepping up to Judson, he swung his fist hard on Judson’s jaw, knocking him over the improvised camp table, flat to the ground.

  “That’ll do from you,” said Thad without any rancor, but his tone was menacing.

  Judson was not quick in getting to his feet. Livid, with a hand at his bleeding mouth, he glared at Eburne.

  “You fellows want to be careful how you talk to me—personally,” went on Thad. “And as far as other things are concerned, for instance deer and cattle and campfires, don’t forget I’m still an officer in the forest service. And I’ve not only the power but cause to arrest you.”

  “You’re locoed, Eburne,” harshly retorted Settlemire, but his face lost some of its heat. “If you did take me to Kanab on some framed-up case, all that’d happen would be you losing your job.”

  “Not quite all,” returned Thad coolly. “I might be able to show the state government, anyhow, that you’d benefit by the killing of ten thousand deer…. And that it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility for you to help do it.”

  “Help do it! How, Mister Ranger?” inquired the cattleman.

  “Why, shoot them yourself,” rejoined Thad contemptuously.

  “Bah!” ejaculated Settlemire, and it was an expression of relief.

  “Your meeting Big Dyott up here in the woods looks queer,” flashed Eburne.

  “Who says that? I never did,” blustered the cattleman.

  “You’re a liar. Blakener saw you, and he’d swear to it.”

  “Dyott was foreman of my Sevier River ranch. I could talk to him if I met him, couldn’t I?”

  “Yes, he was your foreman. And he also was one of the Hash Knife gang. Settlemire, you can’t bluff me. You big cattlemen pull political strings, you make friends, you run the little cattlemen off the range, you steal each other’s water and calves. And you call it business. I’ve got another name for it. You all evade the law, or get around it, or keep within it, technically. But watch your step. I’m on your trail, Settlemire. No doubt you can get me fired. But you can’t keep me out of these woods…. That’s all. Good day.”

  As Eburne mounted and turned his horse back down the road, there was a blank silence. Suddenly it was broken by the sharp high-pitched voice of the third man. He was talking fast, and his tone was angry. Thad could not distinguish what he said. “Wonder who he is,” soliloquized Thad. “Some outsider like Settlemire. A sucker, maybe. But he didn’t look it
. He’ll be one, though, if he buys Settlemire out or any of these big cow outfits.” Thad rode on, soon getting out of earshot of the men. He felt a deep inward satisfaction at having expressed his feelings. What the result would be was of small moment. He loved the great deer herd, but he did not care much any longer for this thankless job. All he hoped for was that he would not get the inevitable discharge before McKay’s deer drive. Still, that need not prevent his helping.

  Preoccupied in mind, he rode back, and passed where the trail crossed, and for a considerable distance before he was aware of it. When about to turn, he heard the swift rhythmic beat of galloping hoofs.

  “Shod horse, whoever’s riding him,” muttered Thad. “And he’s sure running!”

  Reining in, Thad gazed down the road to a thickly wooded bend. Soon a big bay horse shot into sight. His rider was a bare-headed girl whose golden hair streamed in the wind.

  “A girl! I’ll be hanged,” ejaculated Eburne. “Something wrong…. Say, but she can ride!”

  At second glance, the ranger thought the horse was running away. But as he came gliding on smoothly, evenly, fleet as a deer, Thad felt assured the rider was making him run. The stirrups were flying out, dangling. She did not have her feet in them, which fact further attested to her horsemanship. She could not have avoided seeing Thad, for he stood right in the middle of the road. The rhythm of the clattering hoof beats broke. Then Thad saw that the rider was pulling up her horse. But she was able to break only his gait. She appeared to be a mere slip of a girl, certainly not strong enough to check that powerful steed. Suddenly she leaned far back in the saddle and dragged with all her might. The horse slowed, plunged with thudding hoofs, reared aloft, mouth open flecked with froth, eyes wild, and then came crashing down to skid along the woods road.

  “Stop, you big—panted the girl, straining at the bridle. Her white face seemed distorted. She pulled the horse to a stop in front of Thad.

  “Thad Eburne!” she screamed, and that tense, drawn face changed as if by magic.

  “Sue Warren!” exclaimed Thad in amazement. “For Heaven’s sake, what does this mean?”

  “They’re—after—me,” she cried. “Come off—the road.”

  With that she urged the horse at a gallop into the woods. Thad followed, gazing back along the road. But no riders appeared, and soon the road disappeared from sight. He tried to catch up with the girl, but her horse got down to running again and he was very fast. He ran away from the ranger’s horse. Then, at a good safe distance from the road, the girl halted him and waited for Thad. He soon reached her side.

  “Oh—what luck—to meet you!” she panted, reaching for his outstretched hand. “I’m so—out of breath. It shore—tore me to pieces—ridin’ this horse.”

  “Sue, who’s after you?” demanded Thad sharply, his keen eyes on her pale, drawn face.

  “Bing Dyott’s men,” replied Sue. “Some of them—anyhow…. Listen. We’ve got—to be—quick.” She put a hand on her heaving breast and tried to get a deep, full breath. “Fm over heah—with a Miss—Patricia Clay. We met at the El Tovar. She wanted to see— the North Rim. Nels Stackhouse and Tine Higgenbottom brought us over. Last night, just after we got on top, the pack-mules bolted. The boys went back. Miss Clay and I walked around. We found a cabin over heah at the end of a long, narrow park. Then we saw a bunch of riders. I shore didn’t like their looks. We went into the cabin, hopin’ they’d pass by. But they didn’t. Then we hid in the loft. I heard Dyott send his gang out into the woods. He was waiting for a man who was to meet him there. It got dark. The man came. He had a sharp, high voice. They went into the cabin and whispered. It shore was a secret deal of some kind. Then the man left quick as he’d come. Dyott’s gang came in, made a fire, started supper. Pretty soon Nels arrived. He was suspicious. He shore had a hunch we were up in that loft. But he jollied Dyott. Lied like a trooper. Then I moved so Nels could see me. He left then, to come back with Tine. They ate with the gang. Nels came up in the loft and fixed his bed up there. We tried to slip out, but Dyott heard somethin’. He was suspicious. We didn’t dare. We stayed there all night. Not a wink!… Day came. Nels went down. Dyott’s man found Miss Clay’s gloves. That let the cat out of the bag. Dyott threw a gun on Nels and Tine and then forced us to come down. He was furious. He was afraid we’d heard the whispered secret with the strange visitor, I lied. I said I’d heard every word. That was a mistake, for if I hadn’t we might have got off. Dyott threatened to keep us all prisoners. One of his gang opposed this. But Dyott was scared and mad. He ordered them to tie up Nels and Tine. Then I jumped on this horse, got away. Shore haven’t ridden more than three or four miles. Didn’t see anyone chasin’ me, but they must be, for I heard Dyott yell.”

  “I know the place,” replied Thad tersely. “We’ll ride around and come up back of the cabin.”

  Eburne’s first thought, as he wheeled his horse away, was of the bravery of the little western girl. She had talked as fast as she had ridden, but she hadn’t shown any hint of fright. Then the significance of her words dawned upon him. Dyott had a rendezvous with some man he did not want his gang to see or hear! That man was the stranger with Settlemire. Eburne remembered the sharp, high-pitched voice. The plot was thickening, if it was a plot; or else it was just a miserable little deal between Dyott and these cattlemen. Eburne recalled many such. This reaction of Dyott’s, however, was serious, whether or not he had good cause. It was not an absolutely rare thing for a gun to be drawn along that border between Arizona and Utah, even in these modern days, but the mistreatment and threatening of women tourists with guides was something unusual and desperate. This was going too far. Eburne’s anger rose as he led the way back to the road.

  He rode at a swinging gallop through the woods, every glade and ravine of which he knew, until he reached a thickly wooded swale. Here he dismounted, and tying his horse, jerked his rifle from its saddle sheath.

  “Shore I’m goin’ with you,” declared Sue resolutely, leaping off her big mount.

  “All right. But stay behind me, and do what I tell you,” said Eburne.

  He hurried with rapid stride through the forest, never slackening his pace until he caught sight of a sunlit open park ahead. He had struck it at about the middle. The cabin, he knew, was situated at the east end, at the edge of thick timber. Altering his course a little, he went on and soon made out the dark blot of the cabin against the light of the clearing. Luckily the timber all around was thick. Eburne turned to find Sue right at his heels, keen as a whip. He did not need to tell her anything.

  When he got within a hundred yards of the cabin, he saw a couple of saddled horses nibbling at the grass just inside the clearing. He heard a loud voice, but the owner of it was out of sight behind the cabin. Eburne paused. There was a thick clump of brush and saplings at the right of the cabin. For this shelter he headed, half running. He heard Sue’s soft footsteps close behind. In a few moments he reached the covert and again halted a moment to catch his breath. His straining ears caught the sound of angry words: “ … I’ll tell you thet you’re dead wrong.”

  “Dave, if you’re scared, beat it back to Utah,” answered a harsh voice that Eburne took to be Dyott’s.

  Then the ranger, slipping between the brush and the cabin, reached the corner and looked around. He saw a man, back to him, sitting on a log. Nearby lay the two cowboys, Nels and Tine, bound hand and foot.

  Eburne leaned forward for a better look around the notched logs. Suddenly his gaze encountered a woman’s face. He saw her form, too, but only vaguely. The face was the most beautiful he had ever beheld. It was white as snow, with great dark, frightened eyes fixed in loathing upon someone not visible to Eburne. Her lips were parted and trembling. Then he saw that she was leaning against a sapling— that her arms were tied behind her.

  A fury, desperately hard to resist, rose in Eburne, but he had control enough to wait. Dyott was not in sight. It would not be wise to rush out there and risk a shot from him from inside the ca
bin. At that moment Eburne heard his heavy footfalls on the floor, then on the doorstep. A burly man in shirt sleeves, with lowered bushy head, heaved within range of Eburne’s sight.

  “Air you goin’ to tell me?” he demanded impatiently of the trembling woman.

  “I can’t tell you what I never heard,” she replied.

  “You lie! Thet yellow-headed little cat heerd. She spit it at me. You’re lyin’ to me. If you don’t tell it’ll be the wuss for you.”

  “I didn’t—hear,” she faltered.

  The other man spoke up. “Bing, I reckon she ain’t lyin’. Thar ain’t any reason why she wouldn’t say so if she heerd yore precious secret.”

  “Shet up!” yelled Dyott.

  Then he took a long step that brought him within reach of the woman. She shrank as his big dirty hand neared her breast and she struggled to free herself from the tree to which her hands were bound behind her.

  Eburne leaped from his shelter and discharged his rifle over Dyott’s head. Then, working the lever, he ran to the cabin doorway, from where he could command the situation.

  “Don’t move, you on the log,” he called.

  “I ain’t movin’ an I ain’t goin’ to,” replied the man.

  The girl in dungerees ceased struggling with her bonds as her eyes became fixed upon the ranger. Her tormentor had stopped in his tracks.

  “Dyott, I’ll not miss next shot,” said Eburne. “Turn around.”

  The burly form moved around as on a pivot, to disclose a livid visage, pallid under beard and dirt. It had deep-set, smouldering eyes, a big nose, and a loose mouth.

  “Eburne, the deer stalker?” he muttered in surprise.

  “Yes, you—you skunk! I’ve a mind to kill you.”

  Swiftly, then, Eburne reversed the rifle and swung it. Dyott tried to jerk his head back, but the stock struck him behind his left ear, felling him like a bullock before the ax. Then, as Eburne wheeled to face a possible move from the other man, Sue rushed past him to the assistance of her friend.

  “Oh, Patricia, everythin’s all right,” she cried. “Brace up. Shore it’s Thad Eburne come to rescue you.”