by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER ELEVEN: GUILE AGAINST THE WILY
Bud liked to have his life run along accustomed lines with a more orless perfect balance of work and play, friendships and enmities. Hehad grown up with the belief that any mystery is merely a synonym formenace. He had learned to be wary of known enemies such as Indiansand outlaws, and to trust implicitly his friends. To feel now, withoutapparent cause, that his friends might be enemies in disguise, was a newexperience that harried him.
He had come to Little Lost on Tuesday, straight from the Muleshoewhere his presence was no longer desired for some reason not yetsatisfactorily explained to him. You know what happened on Tuesday. Thatnight the land crouched under a terrific electric storm, with cracklingswords of white death dazzling from inky black clouds, and ear-splittingthunder close on the heels of it. Bud had known such storms all hislife, yet on this night he was uneasy, vaguely disturbed. He caughthimself wondering if Lew Morris's wife was frightened, and therealization that he was worrying about her fear worried him more thanever and held him awake long after the fury of the storm had passed.
Next day, when he came in at noon, there was Hen, from the Muleshoe,waiting for dinner before he rode back with the mail. Hen's jaw droppedwhen he saw Bud riding on a Little Lost hay-wagon, and his eyes bulgedwith what Bud believed was consternation. All through the meal Bud hadcaught Hen eyeing him miserably, and looking stealthily from him to theothers. No one paid any attention, and for that Bud was rather thankful;he did not want the Little Lost fellows to think that perhaps he haddone something which he knew would hang him if it were discovered,which, he decided, was the mildest interpretation a keen observer wouldbe apt to make of Hen's behavior.
When he went out, Hen was at his heels, trying to say something in hisfutile, tongue-tied gobble. Bud stopped and looked at him tolerantly."Hen, It's no use--you might as well be talking Chinese, for all Iknow. If it's important, write it down or I'll never know what's on yourmind."
He pulled a note-book and a pencil from his vest-pocket and gave themto Hen, who looked at him dumbly, worked his Adam's apple violently andretreated to his horse, fumbled the mail which was tied in the bottom ofa flour sack for safe keeping, sought a sheltered place where he couldsit down, remained there a few minutes, and then returned to his horseHe beckoned to Bud, who was watching him curiously; and when Bud wentover to him said something unintelligible and handed back the note-book,motioning for caution when Bud would have opened the book at once.
So Bud thanked him gravely, but with a twinkle in his eyes, and waiteduntil Hen had gone and he was alone before he read the message. It wasmysterious enough, certainly. Hen had written in a fine, cramped, unevenhand:
"You bee carful. bern this up and dent let on like you no anything buti warn you be shure bern this up."
Bud tore out the page and burned it as requested, and since he was notenlightened by the warning he obeyed Hen's instructions and did not "leton." But he could not help wondering, and was unconsciously prepared toobserve little things which ordinarily would have passed unnoticed.
At the dance on Friday night, for instance, there was a good deal ofdrinking and mighty little hilarity. Bud had been accustomed to loudtalk and much horseplay outside among the men on such occasions, andeven a fight or two would be accepted as a matter of course. But thoughseveral quart bottles were passed around during the night and thrownaway empty into the bushes, the men went in and danced and came outagain immediately to converse confidentially in small groups, or tosmoke without much speech. The men of Burroback Valley were not runningtrue to form.
The women were much like all the women of cow-country: mothers withsmall children who early became cross and sleepy and were hushed undershawls on the most convenient bed, a piece of cake in their hands;mothers whose faces were lined too soon with work and ill-health, andwith untidy hair that became untidier as the dance progressed. Therewere daughters--shy and giggling to hide their shyness--Bud knew theirtype very well and made friends with them easily, and immediately becamethe centre of a clamoring audience after he had sung a song or two.
There was Honey, with her inscrutable half smile and her veiled eyes,condescending to graciousness and quite plainly assuming a proprietaryair toward Bud, whom she put through whatever musical paces pleased herfancy. Bud, I may say, was extremely tractable. When Honey said sing,Bud sang; when she said play, Bud sat down to the piano and playeduntil she asked him to do something else. It was all very pleasant forHoney--and Bud ultimately won his point--Honey decided to extend hergraciousness a little.
Why hadn't Bud danced with Marian? He must go right away and ask herto dance. Just because Lew was gone, Marian need not be slighted--andbesides, there were other fellows who might want a little of Honey'stime.
So Bud went away and found Marian in the pantry, cutting cakes while thecoffee boiled, and asked her to dance. Marian was too tired, and' shehad not the time to spare; wherefore Bud helped himself to a knifeand proceeded to cut cakes with geometrical precision, and ate allthe crumbs. With his hands busy, he found the courage to talk to her alittle. He made Marian laugh out loud and it was the first time he hadever heard her do that.
Marian disclosed a sense of humor, and even teased Bud a little aboutHoney. But her teasing lacked that edge of bitterness which Bud had halfexpected in retaliation for Honey's little air of superiority.
"Your precision in cutting cakes is very much like your accuratefingering of the piano," she observed irrelevantly, surveying hiswork with her lips pursed. "A pair of calipers would prove every pieceexactly, the same width; and even when you play a Meditation? I'msure the metronome would waggle in perfect unison with your tempo. Iwonder--" She glanced up at him speculatively. "--I wonder if you thinkwith such mathematical precision. Do you always find that two and twomake four?"
"You mean, have I any imagination whatever?" Bud looked away from hereyes--toward the uncurtained, high little window. A face appeared there,as if a tall man had glanced in as he was passing by and halted for asecond to look. Bud's eyes met full the eyes of the man outside, whotilted his head backward in a significant movement and passed on. Marianturned her head and caught the signal, looked at Bud quickly, a littleflush creeping into her cheeks.
"I hope you have a little imagination," she said, lowering her voiceinstinctively. "It doesn't require much to see that Jerry is right. Theconventions are strictly observed at Little Lost--in the kitchen, atleast," she added, under her breath, with a flash of resentment. "Runalong--and the next time Honey asks you to play the piano, will youplease play Lotusblume? And when you have thrown open the prison windowswith that, will you play Schubert's Ave Maria--the way you play it--tosend a breath of cool night air in?"
She put out the tips of her fingers and pressed them lightly againstBud's shoulder, turning toward the door. Bud started, stepped into thekitchen, wheeled about and stood regarding her with a stubborn look inhis eyes.
"I might kick the door down, too," he said. "I don't like prisonsnohow."
"No-just a window, thank you," she laughed.
Bud thought the laugh did not go very deep. "Jerry wants to talk toyou. He's the whitest of the lot, if you can call that--" she stoppedabruptly, put out a hand to the door, gave him a moment to look into herdeep, troubled eyes, and closed the door gently but inexorably in hisface.
Jerry was standing at the corner of the house smoking negligently. Hewaited until Bud had come close alongside him, then led the way slowlydown the path to the corrals.
"I thought I heard the horses fighting," he remarked. "There was a noisedown this way."
"Is that why you called me outside?" asked Bud, who scorned subterfuge.
"Yeah. I saw you wasn't dancing or singing or playing the piano--andI knew Honey'd likely be looking you up to do one or the other, in aminute. She sure likes you, Bud. She don't, everybody that comes along."
Bud did not want to discuss Honey, wherefore he made no reply, and theywalked along in silence, the cool, heavy darkness grateful after
the oillamps and the heat of crowded rooms. As they neared the corrals a stabledoor creaked open and shut, yet there was no wind. Jerry halted, onehand going to Bud's arm. They stood for a minute, and heard the swish ofthe bushes behind the corral, as if a horse were passing through. Jerryturned back, leading Bud by the arm. They were fifty feet away and thebushes were still again before Jerry spoke guardedly.
"I guess I made a mistake. There wasn't nothing," he said, and droppedBud's arm.
Bud stopped. "There was a man riding off in the brush," he said bluntly,"and all the folks that came to the dance rode in through the frontgate. I reckon I'll just take a look where I left my saddle, anyway."
"That might have been some loose stock," Jerry argued, but Bud wentback, wondering a little at Jerry's manner.
The saddle was all right, and so was everything else, so far as Budcould determine in the dark, but he was not satisfied. He thought heunderstood Jerry's reason for bringing him down to the corrals, but hecould not understand Jerry's attitude toward an incident which any manwould have called suspicious.
Bud quietly counted noses when he returned to the house and found thatsupper was being served, but he could not recall any man who was missingnow. Every guest and every man on the ranch was present except old Pop,who had a little shack to himself and went to bed at dark every night.
Bud was mystified, and he hated mysteries. Moreover, he was working forDave Truman, and whatever might concern Little Lost concerned him also.But the men had begun to talk openly of their various "running horses",and to exchange jibes and boasts and to bet a little on Sunday's races.Bud wanted to miss nothing of that, and Jerry's indifference to theincident at the stable served to reassure him for the time being. Heedged close to the group where the talk was loudest, and listened.
A man they called Jeff was trying to jeer his neighbors into bettingagainst a horse called Skeeter, and was finding them too cautious forhis liking. He laughed and, happening to catch Bud's eyes upon him,strode forward with an empty tin cup in his hand and slapped Budfriendliwise on the shoulder.
"Why, I bet this singin' kid, that don't know wha I got ner what youfellers has got, ain't scared to take, a chance. Are yuh, kid? What d'yuh think of this pikin' bunch here that has seen Skeeter come in secondand third more times 'n what he beat, and yet is afraid to take a chanceon rosin' two bits? Whatd' yuh think of 'em? Ain't they an onery bunch?"
"I suppose they hate to lose," Bud grinned.
"That's it--money 's more to 'em than the sport of kings, which isrunnin' horses. This bunch, kid belly-ached till Dave took his horseBoise outa the game, and now, by gosh, they're backin' up from mySkeeter, that has been beat more times than he won.'
"When you pulled him, Jeff!" a mocking voice drawled. "And that was whenyou wasn't bettin' yourself."
Jeff turned injuredly to Bud. "Now don't that sound like a piker?" hecomplained. "It ain't reason to claim I'd pull my own horse. Ain't thatthe out doinest way to come back at a man that likes a good race?"
Bud swelled his chest and laid his hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Justto show you I'm not a piker," he cried recklessly, "I'll bet youtwenty-five dollars I can beat your Skeeter with my Smoky horse that Irode in here. Is it a go?"
Jeff's jaw dropped a little, with surprise. "What fer horse is this hereSmoky horse of yourn?" he wanted to know.
Bud winked at the group, which cackled gleeful!, "I love the sport ofkings," he said. "I love it so well I don't have to see your Skeeterhorse till Sunday. From the way these boys sidestep him, I guess he's asure-enough running horse. My Smoky's a good little horse, too, but henever scared a bunch till they had cramps in the pockets. Still,"he added with a grin, "I'll try anything once. I bet you twenty-fivedollars my Smoky can beat your Skeeter."
"Say, kid, honest I hate to take it away from yuh. Honest, I do. The wayyou can knock the livin' tar outa that pyanny is a caution to cats. Ic'd listen all night. But when it comes to runnin' horses--"
"Are you afraid of your money?" Bud asked him arrogantly. "You calledthis a bunch of pikers--"
"Well, by golly, it'll be your own fault, kid. If I take your money awayfrom yuh, don't go and blame it onto me. Mebbe these fellers has gotsome cause to sidestep--"
"All right, the bet's on. And I won't blame you if I lose. Smoky'sa good little horse. Don't think for a minute I'm giving you my hardearned coin. You'll have to throw up some dust to get it, old-timer. Iforgot to say I'd like to make it a quarter dash."
"A quarter dash it is," Jeff agreed derisively as Bud turned to answerthe summons of the music which was beginning again.
The racing enthusiasts lingered outside, and Bud smiled to himself whilehe whirled Honey twice around in an old-fashioned waltz. He had themtalking about him, and wondering about his horse. When they saw Smokythey would perhaps call him a chancey kid. He meant to ask Pop aboutSkeeter, though Pop seemed confident that Smoky would win againstanything in the valley.
But on the other hand, he had seen in his short acquaintance with LittleLost that Pop was considered childish--that comprehensive accusationwhich belittles the wisdom of age. The boys made it a point to humor himwithout taking him seriously. Honey pampered him and called him Poppy,while in Marian's chill courtesy, in her averted glances, Bud had readher dislike of Pop. He had seen her hand shrink away from contact withhis hand when she set his coffee beside his plate.
But Bud had heard others speak respectfully of Boise, and regret thathe was too fast to run. Pop might be childish on some subjects, butBud rather banked on his judgment of horses--and Pop was penurious andanxious to win money.
"What are you thinking about?" Honey demanded when the music stopped."Something awful important, I guess, to make you want to keep right ondancing!"
"I was thinking of horse-racing," Bud confessed, glad that he could tellher the truth.
"Ah, you! Don't let them make a fool of you. Some of the fellows wouldbet the shirt off their backs on a horse-race! You look out for them,Bud."
"They wouldn't bet any more than I would," Bud boldly declared. "I'vebet already against a horse I've never seen. How 's that?"
"That's crazy. You'll lose, and serve you right." She went off to dancewith someone else, and Bud turned smiling to find a passable partneramongst the older women--for he was inclined to caution where strangegirls were concerned. Much trouble could come to a stranger who dancedwith a girl who happened to have a jealous sweetheart, and Bud didnot court trouble of that kind. He much preferred to fight over otherthings. Besides, he had no wish to antagonize Honey.
But his dance with some faded, heavy-footed woman was not to be. Jerryonce more signalled him and drew him outside for a little privateconference. Jerry was ill at ease and inclined to be reproachful andeven condemnatory.
He wanted first to know why Bud had been such a many kinds of a fool asto make that bet with Jeff Hall. All the fellows were talking about it."They was asking me what kind of a horse you've got--and I wouldn't putit past Jeff and his bunch to pull some kind of a dirty trick on you,"he complained. "Bud, on the square, I like you a whole lot. You seemkinda innocent, in some ways, and in other ways you don't. I wish you'dtell me just one thing, so I can sleep comfortable. Have you got somescheme of your own? Or what the devil ails you?"
"Well, I've just got a notion," Bud admitted. "I'm going to have somefun watching those fellows perform, whether I win or lose. I've spent asmuch as twenty-five dollars on a circus, before now, and felt that I gotthe worth of my money, too. I'm going to enjoy myself real well, nextSunday."
Jerry glanced behind him and lowered his voice, speaking close to Bud'sear. "Well, there's something I'd like to say that it ain't safe to say,Bud. I'd hate like hell to see you get in trouble. Go as far as you likehaving fun--but--oh, hell! What's the use?" He turned abruptly and wentinside, leaving Bud staring after him rather blankly.
Jerry did not strike Bud as being the kind of a man who goesaround interfering with every other man's business. He was a quiet,good-natured young fellow with
quizzical eyes of that mixed color whichwe call hazel simply because there is more brown than gray or green. Hedid not talk much, but he observed much. Bud was strongly inclinedto heed Jerry's warning, but it was too vague to have any practicalvalue--"about like Hen's note," Bud concluded. "Well-meaning but hazy.Like a red danger flag on a railroad crossing where the track is tornup and moved. I saw one, once and my horse threw a fit at it and almostpiled me. I figured that the red flag created the danger, where I wasconcerned. Still, I'd like to oblige Jerry and sidestep something orother, but..."
His thoughts grew less distinct, merged into wordless rememberings andconjectures, clarified again into terse sentences which never reachedthe medium of speech.
"Well, I'll just make sure they don't try out Smoke when I'm notlooking," he decided, and slipped away in the dark.
By a roundabout way which avoided the trail he managed to reach thepasture fence without being seen. No horses grazed in sight, and heclimbed through and went picking his way across the lumpy meadow in thestarlight. At the farther side he found the horses standing out on asandy ridge where the mosquitoes were not quite so pestiferous. TheLittle Lost horses snorted and took to their heels, his three followingfor a short distance.
Bud stopped and whistled a peculiar call invented long ago when he wasjust Buddy, and watched over the Tomahawk REMUDA. Every horse with theTomahawk brand knew that summons--though not every horse would obeyit. But these three had come when they were sucking colts, if Buddywhistled; and in their breaking and training, in the long trip north,they had not questioned its authority. They turned and trotted back tohim now and nosed Bud's hands which he held out to them.
He petted them all and talked to them in an affectionate murmur whichthey answered by sundry lipnibbles and subdued snorts. Smoky he singledout finally, rubbing his back and sides with the flat of his hand fromshoulder to flank, and so to the rump and down the thigh to the hockto the scanty fetlock which told, to those who knew, that here was anaristocrat among horses.
Smoky stood quiet, and Bud's hand lingered there, smoothing the slenderankle. Bud's fingers felt the fine-haired tail, then gave a littletwitch. He was busy for a minute, kneeling in the sand with one knee,his head bent. Then he stood up, went forward to Smoky's head, and stoodrubbing the horse's nose thoughtfully.
"I hate to do it, old boy--but I'm working to make's a home--we've gotto work together. And I'm not asking any more of you than I'd be willingto do myself, if I were a horse and you were a man."
He gave the three horses a hasty pat apiece and started back acrossthe meadow to the fence. They followed him like pet dogs--and when Budglanced back over his shoulder he saw in the dim light that Smoky walkedwith a slight limp.
