The Ranch at the Wolverine

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER XVI

  "I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU OUT AND HANG YOU"

  The trouble with a man like Buck Olney is that you can never be sure ofhis method, except that it will be underhand and calculated toeliminate as much as possible any risk to himself. Ward, casting backinto his memory--he had known Buck Olney very well, once upon a time,and in his unsuspecting youth had counted him a friend--tried to guesshow Buck would proceed when he went down to that corral and found howthose brands had been retouched.

  "He'll be running around in circles for awhile, all right," he deducedwith an air of certainty. "Blotched brands he'd know was my work; andhe could have put it on me, too, with a good yarn about trailing me soclose I got cold feet. As it is--" Ward smoked two cigarettes andscowled at the scenery. As it was, he did not know just what BuckOlney would do, except-- "If he makes a guess I did that, he'll knowI'm wise to the whole plant. And he'll get me, sure, providing I standwith my back to him long enough!" Ward had his back to a high ledge,at that moment, so that he did not experience any impulse to lookbehind him.

  "Buck don't want to drag me up before a jury," he reasoned further."He'd a heap rather pack me in all wrapped up in a tarp, and say howhe'd caught me with the goods, and I resisted arrest."

  The assurance he felt as to what Buck Olney would do did notparticularly frighten Ward, even if he did neglect to go to bed in hiscabin during the next few days. That was common sense, born of hisknowledge of the man he was dealing with. He went to the cabin warily,just often enough to give it an air of occupancy. He frequently satupon some hilltop and watched a lazy thread of smoke weave upward fromhis rusty stovepipe, but he slept out under the stars rolled in hisheavy blanket, and he never crossed a ridge if he could make his waythrough a hollow. It is not always cowardice which makes a manextremely careful not to fall into the hands of his enemy. There is asmall matter of pride involved. Ward would have died almost any deathrather than give Buck Olney the satisfaction of "getting" him. For afew days he was cautious as an Indian on the war trail, and then hispatience frazzled out under the strain.

  At sunrise one morning, after a night of shivering in his blanket, hehunched his shoulders in disgust of his caution. If Buck Olney wantedanything of him, he was certainly taking his time about coming afterit. Ward rubbed his fingers over his stubbly jaw, and theuncomfortable prickling was the last small detail of discomfort thatdecided him. He was going to have a shave and a decent cup of coffeeand eat off his own table, or know the reason why, he promised himselfwhile he slapped the saddle on Rattler.

  He was camped in a sheltered little hollow in the hills, where thegrass was good and there was a spring. It was a mile and more to hisclaim, straight across the upland, and it was his habit to leaveRattler there and walk over to the ridge, where he could watch hisclaim; frequently, as I have said, he stole down before daylight andlighted a fire in the stove, just to make it look as if he lived there.There was a risk in that, of course, granting that the stock inspectorwas the kind to lie in wait for him.

  Ward rode to the ridge, with his blanket rolled and tied behind thecantle. His frying-pan hung behind his leg, and his rifle lay acrossthe saddle in front of him. He was going home boldly enough andrecklessly enough, but he was by no means disposed to walk deliberatelyinto a trap. He kept his eye peeled, as he would have expressed it.Also, he left Rattler just under the crest of the ridge, took off hisspurs, and with his rifle in his hands went forward afoot, as he haddone every time he had approached his cabin since the day he found thecorral and the cattle in the canyon.

  In this wise he looked down the steep slope with the sun throwing theshadow of his head and shoulders before him. The cabin window blinkedcheerfully in the sunlight. His span of mares were coming up from themeadow--in the faint hope of getting a breakfast of oats, perhaps. Theplace looked peaceful enough and cozily desirable to a man who hasslept out for four nights late in the fall; but a glance was all Wardgave to it.

  His eyes searched the bluff below him and upon either side. Of asudden they sharpened. He brought his rifle forward with aninvoluntary motion of the arms. He stood so for a breath or two,looking down the hill. Then he went forward stealthily, on his toes;swiftly, too, so that presently he was close enough to see thecarbuncle scar on the neck of the man crouched behind a rock andwatching the cabin as a cat watches a mouse-hole. A rifle lay acrossthe rock before the man, the muzzle pointing downward. At thatdistance, and from a dead rest, it would be strange if he should missany object he shot at. He had what gamblers call a cinch, or he wouldhave had, if the man he watched for had not been standing directlybehind him, with rifle-sights in a line with the scar on the back ofhis thick neck.

  "Throw up your hands!" Ward called sharply, when his first flare ofrage had cooled to steady purpose.

  Buck Olney jumped as though a yellow-jacket had stung him. He turned astartled face over his shoulder and jerked the rifle up from the rock.Ward raised his sights a little and plugged a round, black-rimmed holethrough Buck's hat crown.

  "Throw up your hands, I told you!" he said, while the hills oppositewere still flinging back the sound of the shot, and came closer.

  Buck grunted an oath, dropped the rifle so suddenly that it clatteredon the rock, and lifted his hands high, in the quiet sunlight.

  "Get up from there and go on down to the shack--and keep your hands up.And remember all the reasons I've got for wanting to see you make acrooked move, so I'll have an excuse to shoot." Ward came still closeras he spoke. He was wishing he had brought his rope along. He did notfeel quite easy in his mind while Buck Olney's hands were free. Hekept thinking of what Billy Louise had said to him about shooting thisman, and it was the first time since he had known her that he dislikedthe thought of her.

  Buck got up awkwardly and went stumbling down the steep slope, with hishands trembling in the air upon either side of his head. From theirnervous quivering it was evident that his memory was good, and that itwas working upon the subject which Ward had suggested to him. He didnot give Ward the weakest imitation of an excuse to shoot. And so thetwo of them came presently down upon the level and passed around thecabin to the door, with no more than ten feet of space between them--soinexorably had Ward crowded close upon the other's stumbling progress.

  "Hold on a minute!"

  Buck stopped as still as though he had gone against a rock wall.

  Ward came closer, and Buck flinched away from the feel of the riflemuzzle between his shoulder blades. Ward reached out a cautious handand pulled the six-shooter from its scabbard at Buck's right hip.

  "Got a knife? You always used to go heeled with one. Speak up--anddon't lie about it."

  "Inside my coat," grunted Buck, and Ward's lip curled while he reachedaround the man's bulky body and found the knife in its leather sheath.Evidently Buck was still remembering with disquieting exactness whatreasons Ward might have for wanting to kill him.

  "Take down your left hand and open the door."

  Buck did so and put his hand up again without being told.

  "Now go in and stand with your face to the wall." With the riflemuzzle, Ward indicated which wall. He noticed how Buck's fingersgroped and trembled against the wall, just under the eaves, and his lipcurled again in the expression which Billy Louise so hated to see.

  Ward had chosen the spot where he could reach easily a small coil ofrope. He kept the rifle pressing Buck's shoulders until he had shiftedthe knife into one hand, leaned, and laid its blade against Buck'scheek.

  "Feel that? I'll jab it clear through you if you give me a chance.Drop your hands down behind you." He spent a busy minute with the ropebefore he pushed Buck Olney roughly toward a chair.

  Buck sat down, and Ward did a little more rope-work.

  "Say, Ward, you're making a big mistake if you--"

  "Shut up!" snapped Ward. "Can't you see I'm standing all I can stand,just with the sight of you? Don't pile it on too thick by letting mehear you talk. I heard you once to
o often as it is."

  Buck Olney caught his breath and sat very still. His eyes followedWard as the eyes of a caged animal follow its keeper.

  Ward tried to ignore his presence completely while he lighted a fireand fried bacon and made coffee, but the hard set of his jaw and thecold intentness of his eyes proved how conscious he was of Buck'spresence. He tried to eat just to show how calm he was, but the breadand bacon choked him. He could feel every nerve in his body quiverwith the hatred he felt for the man, and the bitterness which the sightof him called up out of the past. He drank four cups of coffee, blackand sweetened at random, which steadied him a little. That he did notoffer Buck food or drink showed how intense was his hatred; as a rule,your true range man is hospitable even to his enemies.

  He rose and inspected the ropes to make sure that they were proofagainst twisting, straining muscles, and took an extra turn or two withthe loose end, just to make doubly sure of the man's helplessness.

  "Where did you leave your horse?" he asked him curtly, when he wasthrough.

  Buck told him, his eyes searching Ward's face for mercy--or at leastfor some clew to his fate--and dulling with disappointment because hecould read nothing there but loathing.

  Without speaking again, Ward went out and closed the door firmly behindhim. He felt relieved to be away from Buck's presence. As he climbedthe bluff and mentally relived the last hour, he wondered how he hadkept from shooting Buck as soon as he saw him. Still, that would havedefeated his main purpose, which was to make Buck suffer. He wasafraid he could not make Buck suffer as Buck had made him suffer,because there were obstacles in the path of a perfect retribution.

  Ward was not cruel by nature; at least he was not more cruel than therest of us; but as he went after Rattler and Buck's horse, it pleasedhim to know that Buck Olney was tied hand and foot in his cabin, andthat he was sick with dread of what the future held for him.

  Ward was gone an hour. He did not hurry; there was no need. Buckcould not get away, and a little suspense would do him good.

  Buck's face was pasty when Ward opened the door. His eyes were a bitglassy. And from the congested appearance of his hands, Ward judgedthat he had tested to the full his helplessness in his bonds. Wardlooked at him a minute and got out the makings of a smoke. His moodhad changed in his absence. He no longer wanted absolute silencebetween them; instead, he showed symptoms of wanting to talk.

  "If I turn you loose, Buck, what will you do?" he asked at last, in acurious tone.

  "If you--Ward, I'll prove I'm a friend to yuh in spite of the ideayou've got that I ain't. I never done nothing--"

  "No, of course not." Ward's lip curled. "That was my mistake, maybe.You always used to say you were my friend, when--"

  "And that's the God's truth, Ward!" Buck's face was becoming flushedwith his eagerness. "I done everything I could for you, Ward, but theway the cards laid I couldn't--"

  "Get me hanged. I know; you sure tried hard enough!" Ward puffed hardat his cigarette, and the lips that held it trembled a little.Otherwise he seemed perfectly cool and calm.

  "Say, Ward, them lawyers lied to you."

  "Oh, cut it out, Buck. I've seen you wriggle through a snake-holebefore. I believe you're my friend, just the way you've always been."

  "That's right, Ward, and I can prove it."

  Ward snorted. "You proved it, old-timer, when you laid up there behinda rock with your sights on this shack, ready to get me when I came out.I sabe now how it happened Jim McGuire was found face down in thespring behind his shack, with a bullet hole in his back, that time.You were his friend, too!"

  "Ward, I--"

  "Shut up. I just wanted to see if you'd changed any in the last sevenyears. You haven't, unless it's for the worse. You've got to the endof the trail, old-timer. When you went laying for me, you fixedyourself a-plenty. Do you want to know what I'm going to do with you?"

  "Ward, you wouldn't dare shoot me! With the record you've got, youwouldn't stand--"

  "Who gave it to me, huh? Oh, I heap sabe; you've left word with yourpardners that you were coming up here to arrest me single-handed. Theywill give the alarm, if you don't show up; and I'll go on the dodge andget caught and--" Ward threw away his cigarette and took a step towardhis captive; a step so ominous that Buck squirmed in his bonds.

  "Well, you can rest easy on one point. I'm not going to shoot you."Ward stood still and watched the light of hope flare in the eyes of hisenemy. "I'm going to wash the dishes and take a shave--and then I'mgoing to take you out somewhere and hang you."

  "My God, Ward! You--you--"

  "I told you, seven years ago," went on Ward steadily, "that I'd see youhung before I was through with you. Remember? By rights you ought tohang by the heels, over a slow fire! You're about as low a specimen ofhumanity as I ever saw or heard of. You know what you did for me,Buck. And you know what I told you would happen; well, it's going tocome off according to the programme.

  "I did think of running you in and giving you a taste of hell yourself.But, as usual, you've gone and tangled up a couple of fellows thatnever did me any particular harm and I don't want to hand them anythingif I can help it. So I'll just string you up--after awhile, when I getaround to it--and leave a note saying who you are, and that you're thehead push in this rustling business, and that you helped spend themoney that Hardup bank lost awhile back; and that you're one of thegazabos--"

  "You can't prove it! You--"

  "I don't have to prove it. The authorities will do all that when theyget the tip I'll give them. And you, being hung up on a limbsomewhere, can't very well give your pardner the double-cross; sothey'll have a fighting chance to make their getaway.

  "Now I'm through talking to you. What I say goes. You can talk if youwant to, Buck; but I'm going to carve a steak out of you every time youopen your mouth." He pulled Buck's own knife out of its sheath andlaid it convenient to his hand, and he looked as if he would do anycruel thing he threatened.

  He relighted the fire, which had gone out long ago, and set thedish-pan on the stove with water to heat. He remade his bunk,spreading on the army blanket which he took from the saddle on Rattler.He swept the floor as neatly as any woman could have done it and laidthe two wolf-skins down in their places where they did duty as rugs.He washed and wiped his few dishes, keeping Buck's knife always withinreach and sending an inquiring glance toward Buck whenever that unhappyman made the slightest movement, though truth to tell, Buck did notmake many. He brought two pails of water and set them on the benchinside, and in the meantime he had cooked a mess of prunes and set themin a bowl on the window-sill beside his bunk, where the air wascoolest. He stropped his razor painstakingly and shaved himself inleisurely fashion and sent an occasional glance toward his prisonerfrom the looking-glass, which made Buck swallow hard at his Adam'sapple.

  And Buck, during all this time, never once opened his lips, except tolick his tongue across them, and never once took his eyes off Ward.

  "I've sure put the fear of the Lord into you, haven't I, Buck?" Wardobserved maliciously, wiping a blob of hairy lather upon a page tornfrom an old Sears-Roebuck catalogue. "I was kinda hoping you had morenerve. I wanted to get a whack at you, just to prove I'm not joshing."

  Buck swallowed again, but he made no reply.

  Ward washed his face in a basin of steaming water, got a can of talcumout of the dish cupboard, and took the soap-shine off his cheeks andchin. He combed his hair before the little mirror--trying unavailinglyto take the wave out of it with water, and leaving it more crinkly overhis temples than it had been in the first place--and retied thefour-in-hand under the soft collar of his shirt.

  "I wish you'd talk, Buck," he said, turning toward the other. Helooked very boyish and almost handsome, except for the expression ofhis eyes, which gave Buck the shivers, and the set of his lips, whichwas cruel. "I've read how the Chinks hand out what they call thedeath-of-a-thousand-cuts; I was thinking I'd like to try it out on you.But--oh, we
ll, this is Friday. It may as well go as a hanging." Hemade a poor job of his calm irony, but Buck was not in the mentalcondition to be critical.

  The main facts were sufficiently ominous to offset Ward's attempt atfacetiousness. Indeed, the very weakness of the attempt was in itselfominous. Ward might try to be coldly malevolent, but the light thatburned in his eyes, and the rage that tightened his lips, gave the lieto his forced composure.

  He went out and led up the horses to the door. He came back andstarted to untie Buck Olney's feet, then bethought him of the statementhe had promised to write. He got a magazine and tore out thefrontispiece--which, oddly enough, was a somber picture of Deathhovering with outstretched wings over a battlefield--and wrote severallines in pencil on the back of it, where the paper was smooth and white.

  "How's that?" he asked, holding up the paper so that Buck could readwhat he had written. "I ain't in the mood to sit down and write awhole book, so I had to boil down your pedigree. But that will do thebusiness all right, don't you think?"

  Buck read with staring eyes, looked into Ward's face, and opened hislips for protest or pleading. Then he followed Ward's glance to theknife on the table and shut his mouth with a snap. Ward laughedgrimly, picked up the knife, and ran his thumb lightly over the edge totest its keenness. "Put a fresh edge on it for me, huh?" he commented."Well, we may as well get started, I reckon. I'm getting almighty sickof seeing you around."

  He loosened the rope that hound Buck to the chair and stood scowlingdown at him, drawing in a corner of his lip and biting it thoughtfully.Then he took his revolver and held it in his left hand, while with hisright he undid the rope which hound Buck's hands.

  "Stick your hands out in front of you," he commanded. "You'll have toride a ways; there isn't any gallows tree in walking distance."

  "For God's sake, Ward!" Buck's voice was hoarse. The plea came out ofits own accord. He held his hands before him, however, and he made noattempt to get out of the chair. He knew Ward could shoot all rightwith his left hand, you see. He had watched him practice on tin cans,long ago when the two were friends.

  "You know what I told you," Ward reminded him grimly and took up theknife with a deadly air that made the other suck in his breath. "Holdstill! I'm liable to cut your throat if I make a mislick."

  Really, it was the way he did it that made it terrible. The thingitself was nothing. He merely drew the back of the blade downalongside Buck's ear, and permitted the point to scratch through theskin barely enough to let out a thin trickle of blood. A pin wouldhave hurt worse. But Buck groaned and believed he had lost an ear. Hebreathed in gasps, but did not say a word.

  "Go ahead; talk all you want to, Buck," Ward invited, and wiped theknife-blade on Buck's shoulder before he returned the weapon to itssheath in his inside coat pocket.

  Buck flinched from the touch and set his teeth. Ward tied his handsbefore him and told him to get up and go out to his horse. Buck obeyedwith abject submissiveness, and Ward's lip curled again as he walkedbehind him to the door. He had not the slightest twinge of pity forthe man. He was gloatingly glad that he could make him suffer, and heinwardly cursed his own humanity for being so merciful. He ought tohave cut Buck's ear off slick and clean instead of making a bluff atit, he told himself disgustedly. Buck deserved it and more.

  He helped Buck into the saddle, took the short rope in his hands, andhobbled Buck's feet under the horse, grasped the bridle-reins, andmounted Rattler. Without a word he set off up the rough trail towardHardup, leading Buck's horse behind him.