Steve Yeager

by William MacLeod Raine

  CHAPTER V

  YEAGER ASKS ADVICE

  Though Yeager had enjoyed immensely his month with the Lunar people, hetasted again the dust of the drag-driver with a keen pleasure. He hadnot yet been able to get it out of his mind that he was only playing atwork with the film company. When he heard some of the others complainabout long hours and dangerous stunts he wished they could have riddenon the roundup for the Lone Star outfit about a week. Arizona had tannedthe complexions of the actors, but it had left most of them still softof muscle and fiber. The flabbiness of Broadway cannot be washed out ofthe soul in a month.

  But to-day he felt he had done a man's work. It had been like old times.The white dust of the desert had enwrapped them in clouds. Theuntempered sun had beat down a palpitating heat upon dry sand wastes.The hill cattle he was driving were as wild as deer. A dozen times somelean steer had bolted and gone racing down a precipitous hillside like arabbit. As often Four Bits had wheeled in its tracks and pounded throughclutching cholla and down breakneck inclines after the escapingthree-year-old. Fierce cactus thorns had torn at the leather chaps ashorse and rider had ripped through them, zigzagging across the steepmountain slope at a gallop, the pony now slithering down the shale withbraced forelegs, now taking washes and inclines with the surefootedlitheness of a cat.

  Now stars by millions roofed the velvet night. A big moon had climbedout of a crotch of the purple hills and poured a silvery light into avalley green and beautiful with the magic touch of spring. A grove ofsuhuaro rose like ghostly candelabra from the hillside opposite. Themesquite carried a wealth of dainty foliage. Even the flat-leafedprickly pear blended into the soft harmony of the mellow night.

  Los Robles was still half a dozen miles away and the cattle were wearyfrom the long drive. For an hour they had seemed to smell water and theleaders made a bee-line for it, bellowing with stretched necks as theyhurried forward. It was late when at last they reached the water-hole.

  "Time to throw off. We'll make camp in the cool of the morning," Yeagercalled to Shorty.

  They built a fire of dead ironwood upon which they boiled coffee andfried bacon. Bread they had brought with them. After eating, they lay atease and smoked.

  There was little danger of the tired cattle straying, but Yeagerdivided his party so that they should take turn about night-herding. Hetook the first watch himself.

  The stillness of the desert night was a thing to wonder at. The silenceof the great outdoors, of vast empty space, subdued the restlessness ofthe cattle. Many a time before the range-rider had felt the fascinationof it creep into his blood as he had circled the sleeping herd murmuringsoftly a Spanish love-song. By day the desert was often a place ofdesolation and death, but under the mystic charm of night it wastransformed to a panorama of soft loveliness.

  He thought of many episodes in his short, turbid life. They flashed uponthe screen of his memory as did the pictures of the Lunar Company uponthe canvas. In his time he had mushed in Alaska, fought in Mexico,driven stage at the Nevada gold-fields, and wandered into many a lawlesscamp. Always he had answered the call of adventure regardless of whereit led.

  His thoughts were fugitive, inconsequent. Now they had to do with DaisyEllington, the New York chorus girl whose mobile, piquant face washelping to make the Lunar reels popular. Steve was engaged in awhirlwind flirtation with her which both of them were enjoyingextremely. He liked her slangy audacity, the frank good-fellowship withwhich she had met him. Daisy was a good sport. She might pretend to sighfor the lights of Manhattan, but she was having a tremendously good timein Arizona.

  "Reach for the roof, friend. No, I wouldn't rock the boat if I was you.Sit steady and don't move."

  The words came to Yeager low but imperative. Automatically his handswent into the air even as he slewed his head to find out who was voicingthe curt command. A rope dropped over his arms and was jerked tight justbelow the knees. Very cautiously a man emerged from behind a clump ofcholla. The first thing he did was to remove the automatic revolver fromthe cowpuncher's chaps, the second to wind the rope tightly around hislegs.

  Steve made no comment, asked no questions. He knew that he would findout all about it in time. Just now he was not running the show.

  "I expect your arms must be tired grabbin' at the stars. Drop 'em downclost to your sides. That's fine. Lucky you didn't start anythingcoarse, my friend."

  The man gave a low whistle, evidently a signal, then moved for the firsttime within range of his prisoner's eyes. He was masked and wore a softblack hat pulled well down over his forehead. A Mexican serape had beenflung carelessly across his well-built shoulders.

  Adroitly he bound Yeager's arms to his side by winding the rope roundand round his body, after which he knotted it tightly several times at apoint just between the shoulder blades.

  The range-rider observed that he was a heavy-set, powerful man of abouthis own height. He wore plain shiny leather chaps and the usualhigh-heeled boots of a cowpuncher.

  Presently three other men appeared out of the darkness, bringing withthem Orman and Shorty, both of whom, wakened out of a sound sleep, wereplainly surprised and disturbed.

  Shorty was protesting plaintively. "This here ain't no way to treat aman. I ain't done nothin'. There ain't no occasion whatever for a gunplay. What d'you want, anyhow? I'm no bad hombre. And me sleepin' sopeaceable, too, when you shoved the hardware into my pantry, doggoneit."

  The three men in charge of Yeager's assistants were also masked. One ofthem in particular drew Steve's eyes. He was a slight, short person withthe walk and bearing of a youth. He wore for a mask a red bandannahandkerchief with figures, into which holes had been cut for the eyes.The other two were Mexicans.

  The heavy-set man drew them aside and gave orders in a low voice. Whatthese were Yeager could not hear, but from the gesturing he judged theleader of the band was giving explicit directions which he expected tobe obeyed to the letter. After tying up Shorty and Yeager, the Mexicansand the younger man disappeared. The steady bawling of cattle that beganshortly after told what they were doing. The herd was being moved slowlytoward the south from its bedding-ground.

  Already Steve had suspected the true state of affairs. He needed nobodyto tell him now that the cattle were to be driven across the line intoSonora to supply some of the guerilla insurgents operating in the wildsof that state. Once they were safe in Mexico the cattle would be sold toold Pasquale for a fraction of their real value, the money received inexchange for them having been wrung by that old ruffian from someprisoner he had put to the torture to give up his honest earnings.

  The man who had stayed to watch Yeager and his riders finished one cigarand lit another. He held to a somber silence, smoking moodily, avigilant eye on his prisoners. Two or three times he looked at his watchimpatiently. It must have been close to midnight when he rose as if togo.

  "I'm going back into the bushes," he announced. "If any of you fellasmake a move to free yourself inside of half an hour I'll guarantee youdie of lead poisoning sudden."

  They heard him moving away in the mesquite.

  Shorty swore softly. "What d' you know about this? Me, I've hadbuck-ague for most three hours expecting that doggoned holdup to blowthe roof of my head off. I don't sabe his game, unless he's on therustle."

  "Hell! He's runnin' these cows into Sonora. It don't take any wiz toguess that," answered Orman.

  Steve was already busy trying to free himself. He gave no credit to theman's assertion that they would be watched from the bushes. The leaderof the rustlers was already half a mile away, lengthening the distancebetween them at every stride of his galloping horse. The range-riderknew that their horses had probably been driven away, but he knew, too,that if Four Bits was within hearing of his whistle he could be dependedupon to answer.

  The cowpuncher had offered no resistance to being tied except a passiveone. He had kept his chest expanded as much as possible when the ropeshad been tightened and he had braced the muscles of his arm against thepressure of the folds.
Ten minutes of steady work released one arm. Therest was a matter of a few moments. With his knife he slashed the ropesthat bound Shorty and Orman.

  Already his whistle had brought an answer from Four Bits. Five minuteslater Steve was astride the barebacked horse galloping across countrytoward Los Robles. His friends he had left to follow on foot as bestthey could. He had a very particular reason why he wanted to reach thehotel as soon as possible. A suspicion had bitten into his mind. Hewanted to verify or dismiss it.

  An hour later Four Bits pounded down the main street of Los Robles.Almost simultaneously Yeager brought the horse slithering to a halt andwith one lithe swing of his body landed on the ground in front of thehotel porch. He ran up the steps and into the lobby. Behind his cage thenight clerk was drowsing.

  "Anybody come into the hotel the last thirty minutes?" Yeager askedsharply.

  The clerk thought. "No, I reckon not. There was Mr. Simmons--but thatwas most an hour since."

  "Nobody else?"

  "No. Why?"

  The range-rider turned to the stairs, took them three at a time, andfollowed the corridor to Room 217. He hammered on the door with hisfist.

  A sleepy voice wanted to know who was there.

  "It's Steve Yeager, Mr. Threewit. I wanta see you."

  "You've got all to-morrow to see me in, haven't you?"

  "My business won't wait."

  Grumbling, the producing director got up. Presently he opened the doorand stood revealed in a dressing-gown over his pajamas.

  "What do you want, my anxious friend?"

  "We've been held up."

  "Held up!" A slow grin spread over Threewit's fat good-natured face."Well, I'll bet Mr. Holdup didn't get a mint off you lads."

  "He didn't bother with us. It was the cattle he wanted. They've driventhem across the line. At least, I reckon so."

  Threewit woke up instantly. "That's different. Unload your story,Yeager."

  The extra told it in six sentences.

  "Of course you didn't know any of the holdups. They were masked, yousay?"

  "Yep." Steve's cool, steady eyes held those of the director. "But I'vegot a fool notion just the same that I do know one of them. Come with meto Harrison's room."

  "But--"

  "I'll do all the talking. Come along."

  "Now, see here, Yeager. Just because you and Harrison are at outs--"

  "Have I made any charges against him? Maybe I want to ask his advice.Maybe he could help us straighten out this thing. Got to pull together,haven't we?" A cynical light in the eyes of the young man contradictedhis words.

  Reluctantly the director followed the extra to the room of the heavy onthe third floor. Yeager knocked. He rapped again, and a third time.

  Drowsily a voice demanded what was wanted. Presently the door was flungopen and Harrison stood blinking in the doorway, heavy-eyed andslumberous.

  "What's the row?" he growled, scowling at Yeager.

  "We were held up on the way from Yarnell's by rustlers. They drove thecattle away and left us tied up."

  "That any reason why you should wake me in the middle of the night? Iain't got your cattle under the bed." The heavy jaw of the prizefighterstood out saliently. Unconsciously his figure had drooped to the crouchof defense. His small black eyes were wary and defiant.

  The cowpuncher laughed, lightly and easily. "I'm only a kid. Mr.Threewit comes from the East and don't know anything about thisrustling game. We thought of you right away."

  "What do you mean you thought of me?"

  Yeager's eyes were innocent and steady. "Why, o' course we came to youfor advice--to ask you what we'd better do."

  "Oh! That's it, eh?" Was there the faintest flitter of relief on thelowering face? Steve could not be sure. "Well, I'll dress and join youdownstairs, Mr. Threewit. With you in a minute."

  "We got no time to lose. Mind if we talk here, Harrison?" Withoutwaiting for permission the extra pushed into the room and began hisstory. "Must 'a' been about six miles back that we threw off the trailand camped. I figured on getting in early in the forenoon. Well, I wasnight-herding when I got orders to punch a hole in the atmosphere withmy fists. I didn't do a thing but reach for the sky. A big masked guycome out from the mesquite and helped himself to my gun. Then he tied meup."

  "Would you know him again if you saw him?" interrupted the prizefighterharshly.

  The gaze of Yeager met his blandly. There was the least possible pause,and with it a certain tension. The younger man smiled. "Why, how couldI, seeing he was masked? He was a big sulky brute. I've a notion I'dknow his voice again if I heard it, though."

  "Think so?" In Harrison's voice was a jeer, derision in thehalf-shuttered eyes that watched the other man vigilantly.

  "His hair was about the same color as yours," added Steve in amatter-of-fact voice.

  The underhung jaw of the prizefighter shot out. "Meaning anythingparticular?"

  "Why, no," replied Steve in amiable surprise. "What could I mean?"

  "How do I know what every buzzard-head's got in his cocoanut?"

  Steve continued his story, giving fuller details. His casual glanceswandered about the room. They found no mask, no Mexican serape, no blackfelt hat. Since he had not expected to see these in plain view he wasnot disappointed. A belt with a scabbarded revolver lay on the table.The extra wondered whether it was the same weapon that had been pressedagainst the back of his neck a few hours earlier. The boots lying halfunder the bed were white with the dust of travel, but this was nothingunusual.

  "You can have my advice gratis if you want it." Harrison addressedhimself pointedly to Threewit. "Send back to old man Yarnell's andyou'll find the cattle straying in about day after to-morrow."

  "But, if rustlers took them--"

  The big man laughed unpleasantly. "Forget it, Mr. Threewit. A fairytale to explain how-come your faithful cowboys to drap asleep and letthe bunch stray. I reckon a little too much redeye in camp is the c'rectexplanation."

  Yeager smiled, saying nothing.

  "And now I'm going to beat it for the hay again, Mr. Threewit. If yourecollect, I told you some one was going to blow up pretty soon.Good-night."

  As they walked back down the corridor Steve asked one question of thedirector. "Did it strike you he was a leetle too sleepy at first andjust a leetle too quick to get that chip on his shoulder?"

  "No, it didn't," snapped Threewit. Nobody likes to be dragged out of bedat two A.M., to hear bad news, and the director was merely human. "Itmakes me tired the way you two fellows shoot off about each other."

  "He's a pretty slick proposition," Yeager went on, unmoved. "He hit thehigh spots back to town so as to have his alibi ready--didn't leave anyevidence floating around loose in his room. He must have come up theback way so as to slip in without being noticed by the night clerk. Atthat he couldn't have reached here more than a few minutes before me."

  "Quite a Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?"

  "Bet you a week's salary that if we go out to the stables we find oneof the horses still wet with sweat from a long run."

  "Go you once," retorted Threewit promptly. "Wait just a jiffy till I getmore clothes on."

  Steve's prediction was verified. White Stockings, one of the fastestmounts in the remuda of the company, had been brought in from a longhard run within the past half-hour. Its flanks were stained with sweatand the marks of the saddle chafed its still moist back.

  "You win," admitted Threewit. "But that doesn't prove Harrison was onits back."

  "No. Say, what about giving me a week off, Mr. Threewit?"

  "What for?"

  "I've just taken a notion to travel some. Mebbe I might run acrost thosecattle that strayed back to Yarnell's whilst I was sleeping."

  The director looked at him sharply. "All right. Go to it, son."